Drabble: Metamorphosis, SanaYuki, 1010 words, PGish
Title: Metamorphosis
Author: Ociwen
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 1010
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, for the most part.
Summary: Summer heat, hospitals, transformations.
Author's Notes: Indulging myself in some SanaYuki.
The first time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His face is twisted up. His skin has the same grey colour as the walls. Sanada crawls under the spider web of IVs. Sanada wants to cry.
No one else came tonight, just him. Yukimura's parents are in the hospital lobby.
He touches the back of Yukimura's hand. Yukimura doesn't move. Sanada takes his cap off, and tucks it under his arm. Yesterday, Yukimura would have laughed if Sanada started to cry. He would have pushed Sanada away if he leaned this close.
The oxygen machine hisses rhythmically. A perfect tennis rally.
He presses his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. For a moment, Sanada lingers. He brushes his nose through Yukimura's hair-messy, limp, dead. He takes a deep breath. The antiseptic smell is wrong.
"You can’t-" Sanada chokes on the rest of what he thinks. He squeezes Yukimura's hand, just a little.
He pulls his cap from his armpit, and slides the door shut behind himself.
***
Yukimura doesn't remember.
Sanada doesn't mention it.
He presses his lips together. He closes his eyes, and thinks about the sensation of Yukimura's hair, and the heat of his skin, through the discolouration of disease.
"What are you thinking about?" Yukimura asks. He turns from the window. Hunched over in a wheelchair, his pajamas swallow him whole.
"Tennis," Sanada lies.
***
He cries after the Kantou finals, on the train from Tokyo. Niou sits across from Sanada. Even he's silent under his black scowl and brown wig. Kirihara is so upset, he pukes up the bento he had for lunch.
The nurse says that Yukimura is in the recovery room. Sanada goes in first. Yukimura's eyes are closed. He's hooked up to a machine that beeps and flashes numbers. A toe starts to move under the sheets. Sanada clutches his chest.
He runs out of the room.
Renji is the one to tell Yukimura instead.
***
Grandfather calls him a coward.
A rack of Edo swords hangs in the dojo. Ten generations of samurai strapped them to a belt, wore them into battle. Sanada wonders how many ancestors pushed one of these swords into their bellies, too.
He keeps Yukimura's Prince AirO Winner TI OS by his bed. He keeps a tennis ball by the kami-dama. On the second day, he brings it to the hospital. Yukimura screams at him. Sanada's ears rush. Yukimura doubles over. His face contorts. He presses a button on a machine. Sanada's eyes go wide. The tennis ball bounces into the hallway.
A dark patch spreads across Yukimura's sheets.
Sanada sits beside the door. He hugs his knees. He presses his face to his thighs. Kirihara brings him a bag of senbei. A nurse rolls her eyes. "He just split his stitches. Kids these days."
On the third day, the door opens. Yukimura throws a bed pan. "I'm still angry," he says.
Sanada looks up.
***
Foil balloons cling to the ceiling. Cake crumbs grind into the sheets. Kirihara forgot his cellphone.
"Do you feel well enough?" Sanada asks.
"I could feel when they took my catheter out this time," Yukimura says. "Can you open my window?"
There's a park across the street filled with cicadas. Thick, moist air trickles into the room. Yukimura takes a deep breath. With a wince, he touches his side. "The smell of freedom," Yukimura whispers. He lies on his other side, and looks at Sanada, horizontally.
"Are you sure you're well enough?" Sanada asks. He tilts his head.
Yukimura is quiet. The cicadas chirp. Tsuku tsuku. Yukimura's hands curl on the hem of his sheet. His mouth parts with a sigh of sleep.
Sanada sets his hat on the table, between the cards. He leans over to press his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. His lips brush thick hair. Yukimura moves.
"I'm sorry," Sanada says. His voice catches.
Yukimura tries to sit up. A bead of sweat is forming at his temple. Yukimura touches it. He looks down at his fingertip. "Can you help me?" The sun hides behind a thin cloud. Light dims across Yukimura's face.
Sanada exhales.
"Make sure I'm well enough," Yukimura says. He reaches out to Sanada's face. His sticky finger brushes Sanada's chin.
Yukimura's hand is hot. His wrist is thin. Veins pulse under his translucent skin. Sanada asks three times. On the fourth, his chest tightens.
Sanada presses his mouth to Yukimura's temple. He tastes the salt on his skin.
"Can you feel that?" Sanada asks.
"Yes," Yukimura says. He turns his face. The pillow rustles. Hair clings to the rivulets of sweat along his jaw. A hand presses to his back: light at first, then nails dig into his muscle.
He presses his lips to the hot skin by Yukimura's ear. "And that?"
Yukimura has sweet breath, and icing flakes on the side of his mouth. He closes his eyes. His exhale is hotter than the muggy summer air. "Yes," he whispers. He digs his nails in. Sanada hisses. "You'll have to keep going."
Yukimura sheds his pajamas. Sanada peels the layer away from his skin. He presses his mouth to each rib. He rests his ear to Yukimura's chest. His heart pounds just like his own. A perfect pattern, like the cicadas' song.
His hands shake. He touches the bones of Yukimura's hips. Sanada looks up. Sweat gleams on the top of Yukimura's lip. Sanada takes a deep breath. He kisses the skin under Yukimura's belly button.
"Here?"
Yukimura moans. He flexes his toes at the end of the bed. One by one, they crack.
Sanada moves lower. He doesn't say anything, except, "And here?"
***
The last time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His pajama shirt is buttoned up wrong, but his lips curl with a smile.
Sanada pulls down the brim of his hat. He slides the door shut as he leaves. The elevator is three floors above. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
The salt tastes like something good.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 1010
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, for the most part.
Summary: Summer heat, hospitals, transformations.
Author's Notes: Indulging myself in some SanaYuki.
The first time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His face is twisted up. His skin has the same grey colour as the walls. Sanada crawls under the spider web of IVs. Sanada wants to cry.
No one else came tonight, just him. Yukimura's parents are in the hospital lobby.
He touches the back of Yukimura's hand. Yukimura doesn't move. Sanada takes his cap off, and tucks it under his arm. Yesterday, Yukimura would have laughed if Sanada started to cry. He would have pushed Sanada away if he leaned this close.
The oxygen machine hisses rhythmically. A perfect tennis rally.
He presses his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. For a moment, Sanada lingers. He brushes his nose through Yukimura's hair-messy, limp, dead. He takes a deep breath. The antiseptic smell is wrong.
"You can’t-" Sanada chokes on the rest of what he thinks. He squeezes Yukimura's hand, just a little.
He pulls his cap from his armpit, and slides the door shut behind himself.
***
Yukimura doesn't remember.
Sanada doesn't mention it.
He presses his lips together. He closes his eyes, and thinks about the sensation of Yukimura's hair, and the heat of his skin, through the discolouration of disease.
"What are you thinking about?" Yukimura asks. He turns from the window. Hunched over in a wheelchair, his pajamas swallow him whole.
"Tennis," Sanada lies.
***
He cries after the Kantou finals, on the train from Tokyo. Niou sits across from Sanada. Even he's silent under his black scowl and brown wig. Kirihara is so upset, he pukes up the bento he had for lunch.
The nurse says that Yukimura is in the recovery room. Sanada goes in first. Yukimura's eyes are closed. He's hooked up to a machine that beeps and flashes numbers. A toe starts to move under the sheets. Sanada clutches his chest.
He runs out of the room.
Renji is the one to tell Yukimura instead.
***
Grandfather calls him a coward.
A rack of Edo swords hangs in the dojo. Ten generations of samurai strapped them to a belt, wore them into battle. Sanada wonders how many ancestors pushed one of these swords into their bellies, too.
He keeps Yukimura's Prince AirO Winner TI OS by his bed. He keeps a tennis ball by the kami-dama. On the second day, he brings it to the hospital. Yukimura screams at him. Sanada's ears rush. Yukimura doubles over. His face contorts. He presses a button on a machine. Sanada's eyes go wide. The tennis ball bounces into the hallway.
A dark patch spreads across Yukimura's sheets.
Sanada sits beside the door. He hugs his knees. He presses his face to his thighs. Kirihara brings him a bag of senbei. A nurse rolls her eyes. "He just split his stitches. Kids these days."
On the third day, the door opens. Yukimura throws a bed pan. "I'm still angry," he says.
Sanada looks up.
***
Foil balloons cling to the ceiling. Cake crumbs grind into the sheets. Kirihara forgot his cellphone.
"Do you feel well enough?" Sanada asks.
"I could feel when they took my catheter out this time," Yukimura says. "Can you open my window?"
There's a park across the street filled with cicadas. Thick, moist air trickles into the room. Yukimura takes a deep breath. With a wince, he touches his side. "The smell of freedom," Yukimura whispers. He lies on his other side, and looks at Sanada, horizontally.
"Are you sure you're well enough?" Sanada asks. He tilts his head.
Yukimura is quiet. The cicadas chirp. Tsuku tsuku. Yukimura's hands curl on the hem of his sheet. His mouth parts with a sigh of sleep.
Sanada sets his hat on the table, between the cards. He leans over to press his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. His lips brush thick hair. Yukimura moves.
"I'm sorry," Sanada says. His voice catches.
Yukimura tries to sit up. A bead of sweat is forming at his temple. Yukimura touches it. He looks down at his fingertip. "Can you help me?" The sun hides behind a thin cloud. Light dims across Yukimura's face.
Sanada exhales.
"Make sure I'm well enough," Yukimura says. He reaches out to Sanada's face. His sticky finger brushes Sanada's chin.
Yukimura's hand is hot. His wrist is thin. Veins pulse under his translucent skin. Sanada asks three times. On the fourth, his chest tightens.
Sanada presses his mouth to Yukimura's temple. He tastes the salt on his skin.
"Can you feel that?" Sanada asks.
"Yes," Yukimura says. He turns his face. The pillow rustles. Hair clings to the rivulets of sweat along his jaw. A hand presses to his back: light at first, then nails dig into his muscle.
He presses his lips to the hot skin by Yukimura's ear. "And that?"
Yukimura has sweet breath, and icing flakes on the side of his mouth. He closes his eyes. His exhale is hotter than the muggy summer air. "Yes," he whispers. He digs his nails in. Sanada hisses. "You'll have to keep going."
Yukimura sheds his pajamas. Sanada peels the layer away from his skin. He presses his mouth to each rib. He rests his ear to Yukimura's chest. His heart pounds just like his own. A perfect pattern, like the cicadas' song.
His hands shake. He touches the bones of Yukimura's hips. Sanada looks up. Sweat gleams on the top of Yukimura's lip. Sanada takes a deep breath. He kisses the skin under Yukimura's belly button.
"Here?"
Yukimura moans. He flexes his toes at the end of the bed. One by one, they crack.
Sanada moves lower. He doesn't say anything, except, "And here?"
***
The last time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His pajama shirt is buttoned up wrong, but his lips curl with a smile.
Sanada pulls down the brim of his hat. He slides the door shut as he leaves. The elevator is three floors above. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
The salt tastes like something good.