Banany's fic journal

Title: Voices (Part 2/?)
Pairings: Koyama/Shige, Tegoshi/Masuda
Word count: 3,226
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Following an accident, four of the members of NEWS are left comas in hospital. Upon awakening, their memories of being themselves have been replaced with ones of being other people, from another life.




If he'd cared to count, Koyama would have realized that only three days had passed since he'd woken up. Only three days, which felt like they could have been three weeks. Months. Years. Time didn't make sense anymore. He didn't believe in time anymore.
On the first day, he'd spent an entire hour watching the hands of the clock tick by, only to blink and find that he'd been watching for no more than a minute. After that incident, he’d removed it from his room. Avoided thinking about seconds, hours, days.

With his body virtually unhurt, Koyama had been deemed well enough to go home after barely more than a check up. His family had been overjoyed by the news, but the matter remained that it was his mind, as opposed to his body, that had suffered.
"Let him stay here until he feels ready to go." A specialist - he didn't know which area in - had said, "Don't force him to go home yet. It could only lead to more harm."
Koyama hated hospitals. But right now, he hated the thought of leaving more.

On the second day he’d wandered the halls, barely noticing anyone he passed. He felt like he was the only person left in the world. Everyone around him looked grey, like ghostly morning shadows, speaking in voices like bad radio reception. Like static.
He was disjointed from the real world, and felt like he had nothing left inside him. It was a strange sensation; one which left him too scared to look in a mirror, for fear that if he did, he would see that he was grey too. Like everyone else.
Like Shige.

It hurt to look at him, but Koyama still did, often sitting by his bed, absent mindedly stroking his limp hand. Unlike the other ghosts, Shige had no voice at all, and instead the last thing he'd said kept echoing in Koyama's ears; playing over and over like a scratched record.
'You're such an idiot, Koyama.'
Idiot, Koyama. Idiot.
The echo of Shige's voice was the most vibrant thing in the world. It made Koyama smile, made him laugh when nothing else could anymore.

During the times when Shige wasn't filling up his head, he imagined Tegoshi telling him to cheer up. He often thought about Tegoshi as he sat by Shige, holding his hand. He thought about how Tegoshi was making progress. Making progress, while the others, virtually uninjured, weren't making any at all. Tegoshi had begun lapsing in and out of consciousness as of yesterday; unaware of his surroundings, never saying a word, but waking up none the less. He wasn't allowed to see him yet, but Koyama was assured that he'd be able to. Very, very soon.

He should have been comforted by this, and in a way he was, but there was something about Tegoshi – Tegoshi, who had been injured the most badly – recovering more quickly than the others that made him uneasy.
Something was wrong, but no one was telling him what.
It was on the fifth day in the hospital that they allowed anyone besides Tegoshi's own family to see him. Koyama was left alone with him in the room, but even so, he lingered by the door for longer than necessary. Just watching.

Tegoshi looked neat, but was deadly still, reminiscent of a corpse at a funeral. A small patch of his hair had been shaved off around where the wound on his head was, but the spot was mostly covered up by thick, white bandages. It looked almost like they were all that was holding him together; as though he'd fall apart if they came undone. The thought made Koyama shiver, and he wanted to retreat into the corridor. Instead, he inched forward; close enough so that if he wanted to touch Tegoshi, all he needed to do was reach for him. Still cautious, Koyama let his fingers hover above his sleeping face, pausing only millimetres away. His lips seemed to be curving slightly upwards, almost as if he were trying to smile, and the colour of his skin was a pale tone; dull, sickly, and brighter than anything Koyama had seen in days.

Hesitantly, he stretched his fingers out. They brushed against Tegoshi's cheek, and his world came alive again.

~*~*~*~

The first time he remembered waking up, it was dark and he was alone, save for foreign noises and the looming outlines of black alien shapes. His body was sluggish and weak, refusing to respond to the desperate pleas from his brain. He could barely do more than clamp his eyes shut and cry in a hoarse, low whisper for his mother, his father, his friends; for anyone who would listen.
Nobody heard.
Tegoshi cried until it hurt, and when he couldn't cry anymore, sleep took him away again. He half-dreamed, of mist and twisting objects and a world that made no sense. There were hands reaching out from the darkness below him, and he could feel their fingers sinking into his skin, trying to drag him down into the churning black fog, away from the tiny grain of light he could see, that looked to be a million miles away.

Tegoshi dug his nails into empty space, trying to hold onto thin air and kick away the clammy ice hands wrapping around his legs.
As he fought, the light in the distance became bigger, brighter, before it faded into the welcome darkness that one only ever found behind closed eyes.
He was finally safe.

Tegoshi lifted his eyelids, gradually letting in the sunshine. At first all he could see was a blur, until the room slowly painted itself into a solid picture, as though someone was playing with the focus on a camera. There was a figure in front of the window, framed perfectly in the middle of his vision, surrounded by morning sunlight. Tegoshi recognized him immediately and tried to lift his body, tried to climb from the bed he lay in. His muscles protested, whined bitterly that they couldn't move, and so he called out in a voice, quiet and rusty from disuse, for Kei-chan to turn around. To come and hold onto him so he wouldn't be alone.

Koyama's entire body froze up, and his hands, busied by the task of arranging gifts and flowers, faltered. He didn't want to turn around. Too many times he'd turned around to find that it had only been the wind or the voices of crying children from far down the hall pretending to be his Tegoshi. As long as he kept facing this window, he could keep looking down on the city the way he imagined a god would. And as long as he kept looking down on the city below, feeling like a god, he had power.
He could keep hoping.

If he turned and looked, if Tegoshi's eyes were still shut, he would be forced to admit all over that there was nothing he could do. That hoping was all he was good for. But the voice called again, and Koyama began to tremble. He let his hands fall to his sides, fearing he would upset the presents and vases in front of him.
If Tegoshi wasn't awake, Koyama knew that continuing to stare away from him wouldn't change anything. No matter what he thought or felt, Koyama couldn't change anything. No matter what happened, Koyama couldn't change one single, solitary thing. And so, taking a deep breath, he turned around.
Tegoshi's open eyes were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

~*~*~*~


With Tegoshi's full return to consciousness, it seemed as if things were looking up. Like an earthquake, it had triggered a tsunami of fan letters, and Tegoshi told Koyama, smiling widely – Koyama had missed it so much, Tegoshi's smile – that he was going to read every single one of them when he was allowed to go home. He opened the presents that relatives and friends had sent, laughed and clapped, and everything finally seemed normal. Those times were good.

Koyama finally left the hospital and had dinner at home with his mother. Those times were good too.
The times when Tegoshi looked up at Koyama with a quizzical smile and asked why Massu and the others weren't visiting, when were they going to come and see him, were sort of okay; the times when Koyama had to force a smile back and assure him that they would come as soon as they could; when he had to change the topic to something else - those times weren't as good.
He knew that Tegoshi would have to know eventually, but he didn't have the strength in his heart to make that happen right now.

That day, as he strolled down the halls of the hospital – finally during normal visiting hours – Koyama was pleased to notice that they didn't seem as familiar to him as they had only days ago. He even took a wrong turn at one point before having to ask a passing nurse to point him in the right direction. It made his heart lighter, finally being able to feel as though he wasn't at home here.

"Kei-chan."
He'd barely gotten in the door before Tegoshi said his name, in a cold, sharp voice he wasn't accustomed to hearing. Koyama was so surprised that he almost took a step back into the hall.
"Yes?" He asked, watching Tegoshi's face for any sign of what had brought on the unusual tone. Tegoshi gave him no such clue. Instead, he too seemed to be searching for something in Koyama's expression. It made him uneasy.
"Kei-chan." Tegoshi repeated, then added slowly and ominously, "When are the others going to come and visit me?"
Koyama wasn't sure if he should feel relieved by the familiar question or not.

"I already told you. Why are you asking again?" He said smoothly, accustomed to the lie by now, in a way that made him feel sick, "I promise, they'll come as soon as possible, okay?" He smiled weakly and stepped forward so he could pat Tegoshi's shoulder comfortingly.
Tegoshi let out a short bark of laughter that stopped him in his tracks. "And how soon is that?" He asked, voice bitter.
Koyama's breath hitched. There was a newspaper sitting by Tegoshi's left hand.

"Tegoshi, what... what were you reading about?" He wished he didn't already know.
"Just catching up on some old news." Tegoshi replied. He didn't bother to dull down the accusation in his tone, and Koyama tried to smother his quickly rising panic. His eyes darted back and forth, as though looking for a route of escape.
"You weren't supposed to know." He said in a tiny voice, "I didn't want you to know."
"You didn't want me to know." Tegoshi repeated. He spoke in a deadpan tone, but his eyes were dark and furious. "Didn't you even stop to think about me? You don't care about anyone but yourself."

You don't care.

Something in Koyama snapped. All the year-long minutes he'd spent wondering if the others were going to keep living; the hours he'd spent next to Shige, wondering if he was ever going to wake up; the lonely nights he'd spent wondering whether he should have died; they all surged up, and he took another step towards Tegoshi's bed.
"Don't you dare think I didn't stop to consider your feelings." He said, in a tone that was low, soft, but dangerous; like a shark waiting below still ocean waters. "Don't you dare imply that I'm selfish. You're the one who doesn't give a damn about any but yourself. You don't care about NEWS."

"Maybe that's because we're all that's left of NEWS to care about!" Tegoshi shouted back, voice breaking.
Before Koyama even realized he was moving, his hand had connected with soft skin, and Tegoshi's head snapped to the side from the impact, a bright red mark quickly forming on his pale cheek.
The sound of the slap kept ringing in their ears, long after it had faded from the room.

*~*~*~

"Massu, Massu. Lie down here."
You comply without a word, because although Tegoshi sounds bossy, you know he means no harm. When you fell in love with him, it was with his good points and his bad points. There is nothing you don't like about him – love about him.

You lean back and settle yourself against a tree for support; the bark feels rough, even through your T-shirt, in stark contrast to the grass tickling the palms of your hands. You can hear children's voices floating over from the playground on the other side of the park, and the sounds of thick evening traffic on faraway roads. The noises mingle together, hanging in the still air, and your eyes feel heavy, fighting to stay open. Tegoshi wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls lightly to get your attention.

"Come on, lie down with me properly."
Together like this, side by side, you can faintly smell the scent of his perfume and feel the heat radiating from his skin. The temperature is dropping rapidly, foretelling the arrival of night time, and your body desperately seeks his warmth. You want to close your eyes, maybe fall asleep in the shelter of the leafy curtain of the tree above, but Tegoshi nudges you and points up to the sky; it's orange and golden, like autumn leaves.

"Massu, look. The clouds are so pretty today, aren't they?"
Your eyes follow the direction of his finger, and you smile. It's romantic, you think, like a scene from a movie; sitting in the park, looking up at the clouds dyed brilliant colours by the setting sun. You want to speak - say something that seems like a line you'd find in a film script - but all you can come up with is, "But you're prettier."

Your tone comes out sounding matter-of-fact, more like an argument than a compliment, but Tegoshi's lips still part into a big, beaming grin. His whole face lights up as he laughs, and the skin around his eyes crinkles.
"You've also gotten much handsomer recently." He replies earnestly, in an unintentionally superior manner, and you can't help but chuckle.
"Tegoshi, you're flying right up there with the clouds." You tell him, and let your palm slide against his. He grabs hold of it, fingers twining with yours, and edges closer until your elbows bump. It makes your heart somersault and your face warm up, as though it's the first time you've held hands. You can feel his cheek pressing against your hair and the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Massu." He whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "Fly with me."

~*~*~*~

Mashita saw a flash Mika on the news the next evening, in a clip replayed from the previous day. The Mika on television had perfect make-up and neat hair, but her eyes had the same hollow look he'd noticed upon first meeting her. He found himself wondering how long it would take for that look to go away - if it ever would.

The reporter spoke in a solemn voice, with a solemn expression, of the disappearance of a boy – suspected dead – from the scene of an accident, witness reports and spider web cracks in the windscreen of a truck the only evidence he'd ever been there. The missing boy's photograph was displayed on screen, and it may have been because of the glare of the sunset reflecting on the television, but Mashita didn't think that the name Seisuke suited him.

There was a shot of skid marks on the road, and suddenly he didn't want to watch anymore. His fingers fumbled for the remote control on the table, and he hit the off button without even picking it up. The voice of the reporter was erased from the room, replaced with the faint hum of metropolitan noises from twelve floors below. It was a nice evening. Mashita wanted to be able to enjoy it.

He had a sliding glass door in the living room that opened out onto a tiny balcony; long, but too narrow to do anything other than stand on. The view from it wasn't spectacular – just the rise and fall of sprawling skyscrapers – but Mashita always spent time out there in the evenings. His balcony was his own private world, somewhere he could go to cut himself off from everything but his own thoughts.

It was particularly pleasant tonight; the sun had almost set and the air was cool against the skin of his face. He rested against the balcony wall, leaning over it to look out across the city.
"Massu."
The sounds of the cars below were barely audible, swept away by the light breeze. Mashita focused on the reddy-orange horizon where the sun was beginning to disappear, sinking into the ocean of towering buildings. The sky seemed so close, as though he could touch it if he reached out far enough.
He wondered if he could fly if he tried.

"Fly with me, Massu."
He could feel Tegoshi's hand in his own as he leant out further over the balcony, eyes fixed on the point where the sky and city met. He wondered how far away it was. How long it would take to get there.
The rest of the world melted away, and the ground slipped out from under his feet.
"I'm flying, Tegoshi." He whispered, plummeting through the air with Tegoshi's hand still gripped firmly in his own. The ground rushed up in greeting, eager to wrap him in its cold cement embrace. And just before he landed, Mashita smiled.

The clouds were so pretty today.
~*~*~*~