Up in Smoke: A Heisei Kumi fanfic (16/36)
Author: ryosukekoibito
Pairing: Hikato, Chiitaro, Ariyama
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death, Strong Language
Genre: Slice of life/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone.
Summary: After months of peace an attack leaves the Heisei Kumi reeling, and when an old enemy returns to the area reclaiming that peace starts to feel impossible.
A/N: The next installment in my Heisei Kumi AU, this one starts in the last days of December 2016 and continues on into 2017. If you'd like to read the other stories in this AU, please check out my masterlist. All Heisei Kumi fics have 平成組 next to their titles, to mark them as part of the AU!
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
His head was pounding. It was like his brain was trying to escape his skull, the pain exploding across his consciousness in a wash of red behind his closed eyelids. It hurt, and he tried to shy away from the pain on reflex, scrunching his face up, but the movement only made it worse. There was a new pain when he moved his face, this pain one of sore muscles, and he remembered that he was hurt. He’d been hurt in a fight...or was it two fights? He tried to remember, searching his memories, everything hazy until he realized Yuto had been shot. Yuto had been shot. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. His eyes snapped open, and he could feel himself beginning to panic, totally disoriented.
He didn’t take in where he was, still trying to process his disjointed memories as his heart raced in his chest. He just knew he needed to find Yuto, Yuto needed help, he needed to save him. Keito looked around the room he was in, vaguely recognizing it as Hikaru’s bedroom while he was trying to push himself up to a sitting position. Everything hurt, his head still pounding, and his limbs weren’t cooperating very well. It took him a couple of tries to sit up, and then a wave of nausea came over him, and he had to stop moving, fighting to keep himself from throwing up in the bed he was perched in. He had to get it together. He needed to find Yuto.
“Yuto.” His voice was weak, raspy like he hadn’t used it in a while, and he whined, trying to clear his throat, and he yelled “Yuto!” There was some movement from the far end of the room, and a door burst open, Hikaru emerging dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. Keito reached out to him, still frantic. Hikaru could help get him up, and then they could get Yuto, and-
“Keito! You’re awake! Shit.” Hikaru was visibly relieved, and Keito didn’t understand, didn’t have the time to, because he needed to get out of this damn bed now. He moved to try and stand up, talking as he did so
“Yuto! He needs, he was-” Hikaru lunged forward, reaching his arms out and consequently dropping the towel, as he caught Keito by the shoulders, holding him and saying
“What the hell are you doing?! You shouldn’t be moving! Fuck.”
“No!” Keito pushed Hikaru away, tears already beginning to run down his cheeks. Hikaru wasn’t helping, he didn’t understand. Yuto needed help! “Yuto’s dying! Yuto’s hurt! We have to-”
“What? Keito, Yuto’s fine.” Keito froze. That didn’t add up. “I mean, he’s hurt, but he’s stable. And conscious. He’s just in bed, like you’re supposed to be. Fuck.”
“What? How...what happened? Can I see him?” Keito was fighting back tears, trying to control himself, and Hikaru sat next to him on the edge of the bed, his hand trailing to Keito’s thigh, rubbing it slowly, the action comforting.
“Yuto was shot in the thigh during a fight a few days ago. You remember that part?” Keito nodded. Hikaru nodded back, reaching up and wiping away the tear tracks that ran down his cheeks. “And then we took him to the hospital, and they fixed him up. He came home yesterday morning.” Keito nodded, the panic in his chest quelling at Hikaru’s words. Still, he wanted to see Yuto for himself. He said so, but Hikaru shook his head, frowning. “Keito, after that fight we had two more back to back. You were in three serious raids in three days, and you’ve been asleep for just over forty-eight hours. You are in no state to be getting up. I’m surprised you can sit at all.”
Keito blinked, surprised. Three fights in three days? Shit. He reached out for Hikaru’s hand, only to find that his right hand-and indeed his whole right arm-was covered in bandages, and the gravity of Hikaru’s words started to sink in. His head was still pounding, and he knew he was taking longer than usual to form thoughts, the pain distracting, but he looked Hikaru over, looking for new injuries, serious injuries. He had a long cut along the bridge of his nose that looked ugly, the skin around his right eye a mess of colors, but not swollen. His jawline was similar, a few new cuts and bruises on his chest and arms, all of them rather minor. Hikaru had a long cut on his left calf that had been stitched up, and another on the right thigh that looked more fresh. His hands were black and blue, the knuckles ringed in the worst of the discoloration, the bruises painful looking.
It was during this long sweep over Hikaru’s body that he properly realized that the older man was completely naked, perched there on the edge of the bed, his wet hair dripping, water rolling in little drops down his body. Keito reached out, brushing away one drop that was rolling down Hikaru’s chest, and Hikaru sighed at the touch.
“Are you okay?” Keito asked, not fully sure he wasn’t missing something. Hikaru nodded.
“I’m one of the ones that got lucky. It’s not so bad. I’m fine.” Keito nodded, as Hikaru got to his feet, declaring “You need to relax.” Keito didn’t protest, Hikaru helping him get situated so that he was leaning back on the pillows.
“But what about the others?” Keito asked once he was all tucked in, Hikaru looking over his face.
“Most of them are stuck in their beds. Takaki is about a seven. He was hurt bad enough in the first fight that he missed the second and third, but he’s still not allowed out. Chinen’s only at a five, but he really fucked up one of his legs so he’s not allowed to be walking until it’s been given some time to heal. Ryutaro’s a six. He cracked some ribs, and he’s broken his wrist, so they’re kinda driving each other crazy, stuck together in the same bed and not able to do anything about it, good or bad. Yuto is...well, he’s fine other than the massive hole in his thigh, and Daiki is a bruised mess, and looks like shit, but he really didn’t get any serious injuries. Yamada has a few deep cuts, but he’s up and about, they’re both about at a three or four, and Yabu is the best off out of any of us, just a black eye and some broken fingers.”
Keito nodded, and Hikaru paused, taking a deep breath, before letting out a long sigh, and fixing Keito with a grim look.
“Inoo...he’s still not woken up. He was supposed to be confined to his bed after the second fight, but he came down during the third and...Ichinojo strangled him until he passed out. He is still breathing, but past that...we just, we don’t know.” The grief in Hikaru’s voice was stark and numbingly scary, and Keito felt his heart aching in his chest, that fear he’d felt when he’d thought Yuto was dying hitting him all over again, and he furrowed his brow, bunching his face up in an attempt to keep from crying again. Crying couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t do anything to fix this. Hikaru took his left hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Keito whined, leaning his head up, asking for a kiss.
Hikaru leaned down to meet him, stopping when their faces were just a hair apart, but then he murmured
“Keito, you’re too hurt. I can’t.” Keito looked up, meeting his eyes, and he nodded in begrudging acceptance of Hikaru’s decision, but Hikaru made no move to pull away, and Keito didn’t either. This was as close as they could get, and while it didn’t hold any of the tactile sensuality of a kiss, it felt good having Hikaru right there, soothing despite there being no physical comfort. They stayed that way for a long moment, Keito breathing in the smell of Hikaru, the sweetness that clung to his skin and the familiar scent of his shampoo. He could feel the heat radiating from Hikaru’s skin, and it comforted him the way it always had, in their years of knowing each other. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was in that moment almost as good.
Hikaru did eventually pull back, telling Keito that it was night and that he still had a shower to finish, promising to get him some water and a snack as soon as he was done. Keito nodded, murmuring apologies as he realized that his yelling had disrupted Hikaru mid-shower, and he settled in, trying to be patient and stay still as his mind and body only grew more and more awake. He took stock of himself, his head still pounding, and while yes, everything hurt, it was apparent that his right arm was one of the more severely injured parts of his body, as well as his ribs, the subsiding panic allowing him to realize that the pain he’d felt in his chest hadn’t just been emotion-his ribs were definitely bruised.
After his shower Hikaru brought Keito an apple, the two of them sitting up in bed while Hikaru cut Keito bite sized chunks off of the fruit with his pocket knife, holding them up to his lips for Keito to eat as they talked. It was pretty quiet, the house still, and Hikaru looked tired, all bruised up and weary, his eyelids drooping, yawns punctuating many of his sentences. After the apple was gone Keito expected Hikaru to curl up next to him, already smiling at the idea of Hikaru’s warm body resting next to his under the sheets, Hikaru’s comforting presence making him feel relaxed and more willing to try sleeping, despite having just woken up. But instead Hikaru wished Keito a good night and started heading for the door.
“Hey! Wait!” His words made Hikaru stop, and the older man turned to look at him, Keito patting the empty space on the bed that Hikaru had just left, offering it up, his question written in his eyes. Hikaru sighed, looking exhausted and shaking his head
“You’re too hurt Keito. I don’t want to accidentally roll on you, or...well...you know. It’s too risky until you’re a bit better.”
“But…” Keito floundered, searching for an argument, a way to get Hikaru to come back. “But this is your bed! Where will you sleep?” Hikaru pursed his lips, and when he replied his words were measured.
“I’m staying in Yabu’s bed tonight. And you’re staying here. Kumi-cho’s orders.” There was no room for argument, and Keito nodded, embarrassed by his protests, feeling immature, feeling like a burden as Hikaru left the room. He didn’t get much sleep that night. He was restless, upset, and unable to do anything to remedy his situation, or help anyone. He’d been prescribed bed rest plenty of times before, but never had he felt like he’d let the kumi down by not being able to help the way he felt now. It fucking sucked, and he tried getting out of bed, deciding that if he proved that he could sleep on the couch then at least he wouldn’t be forcing Hikaru out of his own space.
He barely made it half a meter away from the bed before he gave up. Sharp pains ran up his chest, his body weak, breathing just making everything hurt worse. His head was killing him, and he had pushed himself to standing by using his arms, his right arm bleeding a little as he had strained it. He was a fucking mess, and he threw himself back in the direction of the bed in defeat, tears of frustration making trailing hotly down his face. He was pathetic, useless, and he lay there in the dark upset and all alone, not able to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.
He was woken up by a gentle hand on his face, feather light touches on his skin, and he opened his eyes to see Yabu standing over him, the second in command all dressed up in his funeral suit, lips pursed as he examined Keito. Behind him, Keito caught sight of Hikaru getting dressed, their leader tying his tie, his suit jacket spread out on the foot of the bed.
“What’s going on?” Keito asked, moving to push himself up into a sitting position, his ribs sending hot pains licking across his chest in protest. Yabu made a scrunched up face in concern, leaning in and helping Keito up, before telling him
“We’re going to the funeral today. Daiki is going to stay here to help you out.” Keito frowned.
“Funeral? What funeral?” Yabu’s frown grew only more pronounced at Keito’s question, but he answered.
“The funeral for the four underling boys that died in the second fight. Remember?” Keito was stunned by the information. Four more boys, dead? He felt rather ill, and he shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Who?” This time it was Hikaru that answered him.
“Iwasaki Taisho, Abe Aran, Sugeta Rinne, and Kanasashi Issei.” The names didn’t make him feel any better, and Hikaru must have seen that, treating him to a somber, sympathetic half smile.
“We brought you breakfast.” Yabu told him, gesturing to the bedside table with one bandaged up hand, where a tray with rice and a small bowl of soup was resting next to Keito’s gun.
“You should try to eat.” Hikaru said, and Keito nodded, before asking
“How’s Inoo?” Hikaru frowned.
“The same.”
“Can I see Yuto today?”
“Can you make it up the stairs?” At that Keito frowned, contemplating the staircase. It would be really hard, but maybe-“No Keito! If you fucking get out of this bed I swear I’ll cut up your legs to match your arm, understand?” Hikaru looked even more upset, and Keito nodded, cowed. He knew it was unrealistic, to expect to be able to get all the way up to his bedroom on his own, considering how much pain he was in from simply breathing, but still. He wouldn’t be completely convinced Yuto was going to be okay until he saw him for himself. After promising to be good, Hikaru and Yabu left, and Keito spent much of his day cleaning his gun and playing chess with Daiki.
It was nice getting to spend some quality time with Daiki, but it became obvious after Daiki lost his third game in a row that his heart just wasn't in it. He was noticeably distracted, constantly peering across the chessboard to look at Keito’s watch. It was only once Keito managed to capture Daiki’s queen piece with a pawn that Keito decided this was getting out of hand, asking
“Daiki, what's wrong?” Daiki sighed, pursing his lips and leaning back a little, quiet for a long moment before he said
“The funeral. Ryosuke went.” He leaned in, pushing his rook across the board with his index finger, his voice heavy with worry. “He’s been really upset the past few days, and I get it, I know how awful he feels. I went through the same grieving and self loathing after my first kill. I don’t think that he should have gone. I just feel like maybe he would have been better if he’d stayed home with me, instead of spending a whole day dedicated to death. He doesn’t need that right now, even if it’s the death of kids we knew.” Daiki’s voice was strained, and he was frowning, staring blankly at the chessboard, mind elsewhere. “I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea, but he said he wanted to; he said he should since so many of us weren’t physically able to go.”
Keito got the sense that he was missing something, some piece of the puzzle that had perhaps fallen out of his head when he’d been knocked unconscious. He had this nauseating sense of dread wash over him the longer Daiki talked, his mind piecing everything together as best it could. Still, his confusion must have shown on his face, because when Daiki finally looked over at him he said
“You don’t remember?” Keito felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and he shook his head sheepishly, feeling guilty that he’d forgotten something that was apparently very important. Daiki glared at him a little, Keito looking down at the chessboard and knocking Daiki’s rook off the board with his bishop just for something to do. Daiki cursed lowly, focus returned to the game for a moment, before he moved one of his pawns up a square and said “Ryosuke took out Wakaba Ryuya after he tried to put a bullet in your brain. Saved your goddamn life.” Daiki folded his arms over his chest, Keito’s sense of dread only getting stronger as Daiki talked.
“I just wish he’d used his gun so it would have been a clean, instant death instead of the sword. Ryosuke was a mess, covered in blood and just absolutely terrified, and the fucking Wakaba bastard didn’t even die right away, just bled out at his feet. I just...I know that after I...after I’d killed my first man, I didn’t want to leave my room for weeks. I know how Ryosuke is feeling, and…” Daiki’s words had come slower the longer he spoke, and he sighed again, worry pressing lines into his face. “I just wish he was home with me, so I could take care of him. He...he shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Daiki was noticeably distressed, and Keito bit at his bottom lip, trying to process this new information. He didn’t want Daiki to look like that, didn’t want him to be so upset, and Keito could only think of one thing to say.
“Yamada will be home soon. And besides, he’s not alone, Hikaru’s with him.” Daiki snorted, as if dismissing their leader as a potential pillar for Yamada to lean on. Keito frowned. This wasn’t working. “Hikaru has been through the same thing you two both have. He’s killed plenty of people for the good of the kumi, and I’m sure he’s aware of how Yama-chan is feeling.” His insistence caught Daiki’s attention, the older man watching him, focused. “He’s going to be watching out for Yamada today, you’ll see when he comes home. Trust him to take care of your husband, Daiki. Just like he trusts you to take care of me.”
Those final words seemed to have the most impact, Daiki obviously deep in thought as he studied Keito’s face, before he nodded.
“Shit. Okay.” Keito turned back to the board, moving a pawn to capture Daiki’s only remaining bishop.
“Check.”
“Fuck!”
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