CHOCOLATES IN MONSOON | HRK

13 | stickers and smileys

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ;; JUNKYU
stickers and smileys

[ TW ! SUICIDE ! ]

Haruto died while Junkyu had still been speaking.

He should have known really. There hadn't ever been so long a pause when he just spoke - on and on and on- like he always did and the older hadn't said a thing. Or chuckled. Or touched him. He should have known too that when someone's chin lolled down upon your head and their grip slackened on you - all of a sudden, out of nowhere - they weren't really fine. Well that was saying something. Haruto was far from fine.

He was dead.

When Junkyu had stopped his little reminiscing, it was already too late. The blood in the older's chest had clotted, blocked the air entering his lungs and given him a stroke. According to the doctor, it was quite a miracle the patient hadn't had a seizure. It was quite remarkable that Haruto had stayed alive and been able to talk while the family doctor had safely taken the parents away and out of sight - he had given his assumptions at 'soon enough'. Turned out, Junkyu's presence had just delayed the inevitable.

That wasn't exactly a happy thing to think of. Not a good thing.

He had stopped his little talk and looked up to see the whites of his lover's eyes. Eyes half closed. Spittle frothing at the corner of Haruto's lips. He had paused for a second - taking in what he was seeing - taking in every small detail as his lips stretched up in a gruesome grin of panic. There had not been a single speck of color on the older's cheeks. Not a trace of moisture on his lips. Not a harsh mint scent lingering about him. He had been rock still. One arm against Junkyu's cheek, the other around the younger's waist. His face had been growing bluer with every passing moment- but Junkyu hadn't moved. He had yelled.

He had yelled and cried and kicked at the air till he couldn't speak anymore. His nailless, small fingers had clutched and clawed at Haruto's shirt, trying their best to hold on. He had yelled. He only remembered yelling. Yelling and yelling and maybe moaning and whimpering in pain as a couple of men in blue coats pulled him off the body and dragged him out of the room. His parents had stood by the Watanabe's garage as he was dragged out.

He remembered yelling. He had kicked, punched, cursed at the men to let him go. Haruto needed him. They needed to understand. He wasn't the one needing care. The older was. His face was getting blue. His lips were getting white. His body was getting lifeless somewhere inside the house. They needed to leave him. He remembered saying all of these things and then some more as he was stuffed into an ambulance. The men hadn't listened. Nor had his parents. They sat on either side of him, keeping him down and not listening to him. Haruto needed him.

He might have fainted somewhere in there too. He might have. Because the next time he woke up - he wasn't somewhere with white beds and linen covers and curtains. He wasn't in the hospital. There were no scary men pulling him down and gripping his arms. He remembered thinking Haruto would beat the men up for touching him and scaring him and will cuddle him and kiss him to sleep when he whined about it later. He remembered thinking he would whine a lot because he needed the care - and the pampering. He would tell the older how the others were so unfair to him and whine and punch and kick to get the hugs and kisses. Because they felt nice.

He remembered waking up in his room with a slight headache but smiling like crazy at all the things he would whine for in Haruto's room. He remembered subconsciously taking the medicines laid out on his bedside table and turning toward his window. He remembered still smiling - as widely as ever, getting butterflies and giggling like crazy - as he pulled the blinds apart and set a foot on the sill.