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you're really lovely.
[ shouichi still hasn't asked how long they've been on sabbatical. he's only just recently started to move about on his own; his fingers still too numb and slow for tedious work or even shirt buttons. the feeling of cloudy sedation lingers heavily in his head and limbs and his appetite switches instantly from voracious to not wanting to eat for days. sometimes, when he tries to speak he forgets how to use his words entirely and instead stands there silently, frantically searching for what it is he wanted to say. they've both dealt with possession before, but this kind of a recovery made him worry.
when kon is out, shouichi attempts to strengthen his dexterity. hold a pen; use chopsticks; read. all of these things that feel as if they're returning to him so slowly that it's embarrassing. at least by himself he can curse out loud and throw a fit if he needs to, which comes in handy when he finds himself stuck in front of the mirror with enough courage to push his hair back. the skin around his right eye is still discolored and sensitive, trailing up through his eyebrow and into his hairline. thankfully, his hair has grown out so much that he can keep it hidden well enough. the eye itself, though, is a different story. it's gone completely black. he hasn't been able to see from it since that day, but he supposes it's just as well because he'd rather keep it covered. it's hard enough for him to look at, so he can't really imagine what it could be like for anyone else.
because of this, he shies away from kon. not intentionally, but because he feels a little bit like a monster. he likes to think that kon hasn't seen his face like this at all, though he knows he certainly has. he tries to hide when he can, because the thought of it being brought to his attention makes him sick to his stomach. shouichi doesn't want to be noticed and especially not because of something like this.
shouichi is all knees and elbows as he sits at the foot of the bed and reads last week's coffee stained newspaper. his nerves feel jumpy and his stomach feels violently nauseous despite not having been able to eat a bite in a number of days. really, he's feeling exceptionally manic. so much that he doesn't notice the cold sweat that's sunken in to his flushed face, or that his hands have started to tremor until thick spots of dark red blood start to appear on the paper he's holding. suddenly he can feel that his eyepatch is heavy and soaked with blood that's started to drip and run all over. he opens his mouth to speak, but the words are broken and frantic until he has to stop so he can swallow.
well, fuck.
this is one of those "it gets harder before it gets easier" things, isn't it. ]
no subject
There isn't much in life that Kon cares a great deal about. He doesn't really care about the people they work for, the things they destroy, the world they live in. If things are nice for other people, that's pretty fine, but so long as he himself is fit and busy, he doesn't really care what happens to other people.
Except Shouichi.
Somehow, Shouichi fits at his side as naturally as his right arm once did. Not that recent events have been nearly as traumatizing for Kon as they were for Shouichi -- not remotely -- but having him like this, having him so wrong, so off eats at him. He's physically present, but even in his most lucid, comfortable moments when he's concentrating on a task, he's so many steps to the left of where he should be that Shouichi hardly even seems to be the same person. It's not his fault. It's not his fault. (It is his fault and he hates himself for it more deeply with every failed lead.)
Kon curses himself for all the times he'd wished for something, anything, new and difficult to puzzle over. For a long time, all he'd wanted was a problem, a subject to occupy his mind, something to struggle against. He'd been a fool. Wishes never end up the way you want them, any idiot who can read knows that.
He tries to take care of himself, for both their sakes. He walks outside, buys and eats nutritious food, washes his hair, brushes his teeth -- but the sun hardly feels like anything on his skin, the food tastes like dust, and he only cares for his body out of a cerebral knowledge that he must. Every waking moment (and most of the sleeping ones, scant as they are) are completely devoted to the Problem.
He struggles to find balance in how much to push Shouichi, to make him eat when he can hardly force anything down his throat, to coax him into the chipped bathtub when he doesn't want to move, to suffer the weight of Kon's arm around his rigid shoulders. Without Shouichi to hold him steady, to provide the necessary counterweight to hold their apparently delicate equilibrium, Kon flounders.
Every avenue he pursues is a dead end. The network of information that he'd once been so confident in offered him nothing. The vast wealth of knowledge he'd prided himself on was useless, worthless, containing nothing of value. All of the skills that he'd once thought to be so sharp failed him utterly. They've seen possession, curses, spiritual poisoning, and mind control -- a thousand different ways a person could be tainted, broken, or cowed, and what was happening to Shouichi was like nothing they'd encountered. No healing, no magic, no supplication changed the state of things. Kon deeply considered the merit of excising the ruined eye, but if some sort of parasite had taken up residence in Shouichi's body, it was possible that such a drastic move could cause it to react badly, potentially destroying its host. It's an unacceptable outcome, and it is with crushing clarity that Kon realizes that there are no lengths to which he would not go in order to maintain Shouichi. He's become too dependent, too reliant on him. Shouichi has become too much a part of Kon. So bends his thoughts on Shouichi's eye, tracking down possible explanations, remedies, anything to ease the pain with a feverish kind of single-mindedness.
He's hunched in an uncomfortable chair next to the rooms rickety radiator, deep in a text on the topic summoning the supernatural, chasing the desperate hope that perhaps something from another plane could identify the nature of the problem, when he hears the cadence of Shouichi's breathing become panicked. Snapping his gaze up, the book hits the floor before he can properly process what he's seeing.]
Shouichi!
[Blood has never made him feel queasy before, but the dark stream of it coursing down Shouichi's cheek makes him want to retch. He swears in an amalgam of languages, reflexively summoning purifying energy to his fingertips.]
no subject
there are reasons why shouichi sulks around kon. guilt; embarrassment. every thing he wants to do or say feels just out of reach and he wonders just how long it will stay this way. he wonders if it will eventually just drive him crazy. he doesn't want kon to see that; he doesn't even want kon to see him like this. it's not really fair to him, is it?
even now, hunched over in burning fucking agony he wishes kon weren't here to witness this. his shoulders feel like razor blades and he isn't sure if his eye has burst or not, what with just how much blood is pouring out of his eye and squeezing between his fingertips. clarity fades in and out, but he focuses on kon. he can hear his voice, the rustling of pages and rushed footsteps as the sounds cut through the panic and strangled sounds that wring from his own throat. eventually, the medical eyepatch grows too heavy and splatters at kon's feet. shouichi chokes on his own blood; chest heaving. trembling, he reaches for kon's sleeve and his fingers wrap themselves up in its fabric so tightly they could break.
it's been a very long time since shouichi has made any sort of eye contact with kon. looking at him now, wild and frantic, he tears up. shouichi really isn't the type to cry. not anymore. not for years. he's carried so much stress in his day to day life that he believed he was truly beyond that function. but right here, fueled by terror, shouichi doesn't feel so much like a person as he does a frightened animal.
his head pounds and he inhales sharply, unable to convince himself to break contact with kon. there was just no way he could let him go. he was the only comfort shouichi knew. ]
Please --
[ he forces out, small and strained. please help me. please put me out of my misery. he doesn't know which. shouichi is desperate. he needs kon to do anything. ]
no subject
I’ve got you. I’m here.
[His fingers are clammy with terrified sweat and holy fire when he grabs Shouichi’s wrist, gently pulling it away so he can get a clear look at the eye.]
Hey, Shouichi. Shou, babe, I need you to take deep breaths. Can you do that for me?
[The low wattage bulbs in the dusty lamp reflect dully on the blood pouring down Shouichi’s face. The consistency isn’t quite right, but everything’s been wrong for so long that it only makes sense for this to be wrong too.
The surface of Shouichi’s eye is so dark that at first Kon thinks it’s burst, that the damn thing has popped like an overripe berry and his heart skips and twists. It’s a split second, but relief and hope are just a hair’s breadth away, and he’s so desperate for good news that his thoughts are swirling with schematics for a new eye before he realizes in a crashing wave of despair that the eye is still in tact, simply cloudy and black and just as wrong as it had been that morning. He’d thought, he’d hoped, just for that instant, that the eye had burst, popping like a boil and draining all the infected tissue and fluid. That Shouichi would heal. That his new eye would always be a reminder of what had happened. That this madness would be behind them. Maybe they’d finally retire for good. Maybe they'd have a future that didn’t end with them being torn into quivering strips of meat by unholy monsters.
It was a fleeting hope, but it came crashing down all the same as he stared into Shouichi’s eye and saw nothing reflected except his own panic.]
no subject
Aa -- [ shouichi stammers, heart pouding and still unable to calm his breathing. he's sucking in air and unable to use his words. his entire frame shakes, but the connection he has with kon holding onto his wrist is his lifeline. it becomes obvious that he's trying to pull himself together, over and over again until he collapses too far and gives up with a whine of defeat.
it was much too difficult to be anything but a trembling mess. black dribbles from the corners of his mouth and to be honest, he can't even taste it. he's inundated with unholy whatever-this-shit-is and it doesn't really look like that's about to change anytime soon. in fact, it's only just finished incubating. shouichi feels sick. he wants to vomit; scream; anything, really. it sounds like he's choking back a sob as his shoulders tremble. there are sounds that nearly form words every so often, like he's trying to say something.
shouichi can feel something stirring.
with a sticky peeling sound, his black eye rolls it its socket until an iris appears, distorted and red. really, most things make more sense now. it kind of makes shouichi want to die, too.
gosh, poor kon. shouichi just wants to apologize. this is such bullshit. ]