Memento Mori (MikaYuu)

«18»

Yuichiro was bedridden for four days.

He never despised such an experience more.

However, Mika never broke his promise to keep the boy alive and treated and spent a majority of his hours over those dreadful days next to Yuu's hospital bed. School was closed for obvious reasons, and the only time he couldn't see him was when he had an illicit job. On those nights he was very considerate of his attention for Yuu just before the assignment.

He promised Yuu he'd be brave, he'd be safe, and that he'd come back alive to supply him with more hugs and attention.

But on a workless day, it followed a habitual schedule.

Mika would bring him his dinner plates.
He would bring some of his comic books.
He would bring the books to help Yuu study.
He would design Yuu's arm in tattoos with nontoxic markers.
And most importantly, he brought his promise every time.

Their nights were spent boyishly, having silly conversations, Yuu enthusing about some intense scene in his comics, excitement rushing in him as Mika was a master at the nontoxic tattoos. When they faded, Yuu would always recommend something even more incredible to him than the last.

As harmless as everything seemed, it was only feeding Mika's attachment to him. He was dreading Yuu's release from the building every night he visited, as much as he ached for him at his side again. He wanted Yuu to be under his wing only just as much as he wasn't his to keep.

But finally, his last day was a little physical therapy.

Yuu clung desperately to Mika's shirt as the blond helped him out of his bed with heeding movements. He was precise, making sure his injured, casted thigh was kept pampered at an all time support.

Truthfully, Yuu felt like a new man on his own two feet again. He was always carried to bathrooms, bathed in a seat. Now he stood tremulously at one end of the blindingly pale room while the blond walked backward to the other end.

"Ready?" Mika grinned as he held out his arms in front of him.

Yuu had to learn to steady himself on that leg again, which first had begun with standing, and now it was walking.

"Mhm," the green-eyed boy nodded, determination etched in his eyes. The thick, saddle-shaped cast on his upper thigh was slightly restricting, and a bit heavy.

But it was essentially a part of him for now.

Careful steps, bad thoughts aside.

Walking appeared elementary to anyone with their leg not nearly blown to bits. But Yuu perceived the sensation like a bomb going off in his leg that day... like it was completely over.

He was frightened by sudden noises as well since the assault. Specifically slamming, dropping of things, popping, yelling... He could still hear gunshots in his head but the recovery was going as smoothly as it was going to get.

Every step he took dependent on his leg made him feel like he could collapse at any second. His right leg's lower half felt practically useless with the upper half nearly destroyed.

Yet he still smiled as he approached Mika, only wobbling just to avoid the metal rack near his side. He finally clung to Mika's shirt after the ten meter walk, his leg pulsing from all the sudden adrenaline.

"Hey, look at you. Almost as good as new," the blond teased as he let Yuu hug him boa-tight in celebration.

"My leg feels silly," Yuu huffed, burying his face in Mika thick sweater. He inhaled the rich scent, looking up at his friend who replied with a grin.

There was no denying the loss of weight Yuu felt around Mika's waist and torso. He'd lost quite a couple pounds sacrificing his meals just so Yuu wouldn't starve. The hospital did a poor job of keeping him fed. The blond's money was tight on rent and bills, and before he knew it, he was having sleep for dinner a couple nights.

Yuu even cried on a night Mika gave him his food and rebuffed taking it back. He knew better than to eat it while he was in the room however. He felt horrible about it.

But seeing him smile that day meant better things.

~

The emerald-eyed laughing stock wasn't at the orphanage for all those days. Therefore Sister Anna had no beating dummy, and was utterly bitter that hospital bills were suddenly being shot her way.

Saint became a target in the blink of an eye.

While his only friend was absent, he drew all the time. He drew Yuu comics, fonts, animals. He was skilled at it.

But his mistake was connecting his emotions to his drawings. And doing it in such a Christianized building like that foster care.

He doodled several times of loving scenarios; him and Yuu holding hands, playing as their favorite heroes, as animals, anything more.

He was not supposed to draw them too close.

All he drew was a small kiss on the cheek, harmless and hopeful, but too indulged to hear the dinner bell ringing. While he was making all of the kids wait for prayer due to his absence at the table, all hell broke loose when Anna caught him upstairs.

In her eyes, he was just another Yuu.

Therefore she could hit him, take his drawing supplies and embarrass him in front of the entire dinner table.

Something along the lines of "I'd ought to kick you out! I'll send him off, too! You two shouldn't dare stay together anymore, it sickens me what you're bringing into this house," were spoken.

Some of those words sounded like promises to him.

Those poor foster children lived a life of drama everyday.

Having been struck by the nun for the first time since his arrival, he didn't necessarily accept those gestures and let them slide as briskly as Yuu had.

Saint Ettan was quite unforgiving.

One evening, just before supper, he poured alcohol in the gas stove ignition. It was right before dinner was made so the liquid didn't evaporate. He heard it pool, the plan already taking its course.

No turning back now.

He hid under the steps until that witch of a nun cooked. He heard the knobs click, the air whoofing with the sudden burst of energy, and an ear-piercing scream.

He smiled approvingly as her face and uniform were engulfed and burning, nearly scaring himself at just how powerful he truly could've been. He watched her struggle, the urgency for help. The kids were losing it as they raced downstairs and from around all directions to observe the sudden outburst. The other nuns raced to her rescue, smothering her out with cold water from rusty metal buckets.

Half her face was scorched now.

No one presumed the boy with gray eyes. Some were too afraid, and some just didn't want to discover the answer.