Chapter Text
Takeda has been gone for a few hours, during which Koushi couldn’t help but fall in and out of sleep several times, still worn out from today’s ordeal. Pangs of rage and shame fill his heart and become so intermingled he can no longer distinguish which feeling is worse. He dreamt of Oikawa’s face looming over him, his expression changing from a malicious smile, then to a terrifying scowl, then to red hot anger, mouth agape and screams escaping him, then alternating from one to the other so quickly, it created contortions and shapes a human physiognomy should not be able to achieve, making him gasp for air the second he is conscious. The relief of escape that washes over him dissipates instantly when reality catches up to him.
He yielded.
He wanted to continue fighting for however long it took for him to lose consciousness, but he couldn’t. He failed once again.
Hot tears run down his cheeks, stinging his upper lip which is split.
He knows he has disappointed Sawamura and damaged him probably to the point of no return, yet the only person he thinks of is his mother, her stoic gaze falling upon him, passing judgement. He will never be able to look her in the eye again. Not that there is a chance that they will ever reunite.
Maybe the underlying fear is the most powerful of all sensations, but he does not dare admit that to himself.
Sawamura’s words ground him. He hasn’t mentioned anything about the fight since Koushi’s promise. He simply follows the ritual of placing ice patches on both his eyes and removing them every once in a while, to avoid burning the skin. He continues ceaselessly, to the point of receiving multiple comments from the nursing staff about how he should better leave and get some rest.
But he doesn’t care. He sits on the uncomfortable chair next to Koushi, talking, holding the ice bags, catching glimpses of a Capitolean show from the television down the hall.
“You can go upstairs, you know”, Koushi would say. “They check up on me like every twenty minutes, I’ll be fine, you need to eat.”
“In a bit”, his answer came naturally after the first three times he was asked.
At this point Koushi lets himself believe that his partner’s caring gestures mean something more than just that; his warm breath falling on his face from the proximity of holding the ice packs on his eyes, his hand always placed on the edge of the hospital bed, not on top of his but never quite leaving its designated spot.
He even pretends that his hand accidentally falls on Sawamura’s while he’s asleep. The fact that he didn’t feel him pulling away gave him a slither of strength, which was followed by embarrassment falling heavy on his chest.
What the fuck am I doing?
When he supposedly wakes up from his brief slumber he apologises for his misplaced hand and Sawamura says it’s “no big deal” with a slight smile. Koushi tries to interpret the meaning behind it but eventually settles for burying his need to do so in the back of his mind.
There is no point in what he is doing. Only bad things can come from this.
Takeda eventually comes in and informs them that he met with Oikawa’s escort and they decided to take this to the Game Organisers.
Koushi doesn’t know whether this is something he should be happy about or not.
“So, what can you do about this?”
“I wish I could say that we could request the postponing of the Games due to your injury and the penalisation of Oikawa, but unfortunately we are not the type of District that can secure this treatment for its tributes. It depends on a lot of things, but I will try my best to convince them.”
“It’s alright” Koushi murmurs, lost in the corridors of his mind.
Sawamura clutches at the bed in a desperate attempt to stop his trembling.
*
The next days go by in a blur, Koushi fading in and out of consciousness, opting for sleep over looking at Sawamura through his swollen eyes and hurting every time he breathes. He is released three days after the beating, his escort having fought tooth and nail for the privilege to stay so long at the clinic. It seems that the staff there were in a rush to discharge him. “He will continue his recovery out of the clinic just fine.”, they repeatedly told Takeda with an indifferent tone. Once he is brought up to his floor and placed carefully on his bed by the nurses, he heaves a sigh. The swelling in his eyes has gone down a bit, to the point where he can open one halfway. His core hurts like hell, but he didn’t expect anything less. He never thought he would feel even slightly at ease in this apartment, but he vastly prefers this to being debilitated, Sawamura fighting sleep to keep him company and Takeda checking in on him every couple of hours, giving him void assurances that a solution will be found and everything will go as planned.
The doctor gave him breathing exercises and advised him to start taking long walks inside the apartment.
“Normally, I would recommend bedrest for a longer period of time and gradual efforts to walk given his situation, but considering the circumstances…” he trails off.
It was becoming clear that doctors were simply preparing him to get up on his feet as soon as possible, since he will have very limited time to recover, before he has to run for his life.
Koushi was strongly advised to walk multiple times before he was sent to his apartment, only to blackout after three steps on each attempt, Sawamura and the nurses hauling him back onto the bed.
“What is he to do, doctor?” Takeda asks worriedly, his voice so desperate he almost convinces Koushi that he genuinely cares about him.
“He will start the exercises and will be medicated to alleviate the pain. With the available healing time there’s not much else I can do. He must deal.”
This conversation took place numerous times outside Koushi’s room, when his escort was convinced he was sound asleep, maintaining the belief that it was a matter of asking the physicians enough times so that they would change their mind and hospitalise him for a longer period of time and offer him stronger drugs. He never told him what was to come in his rehabilitation, but there was no need. Koushi isn’t so delusional as to think that anyone in the Games would take mercy on him. He is prepared to go through the whole ordeal carrying the anguish of unhealed wounds. This isn’t the first time it is expected of him to pull through while his body is collapsing. Back at home he would spend days working on an empty stomach, many a times blacking out due to exhaustion. Him being in his best shape would not make much of a difference in his eyes anyway. He just hopes he is drugged enough to not remember anything of the following weeks.
The person who cannot accept this arrangement is Sawamura.
He is eventually told by both of their mentors that it would be best if he continued training in order to remind everyone that the member of the team who is responsible for brute strength is still at the top of his game. Each time before he goes to morning training and during his breaks he continues to monitor Koushi, talking to him about what they learn in combat, avoiding any mention of Oikawa.
“He must be elated.”
It escapes Koushi on the second morning of recovery in the apartment as he finds that he can no longer keep his bitterness to himself. “I can picture him practically jumping with joy.”
They are sitting at the dining table, an array of fruits, bread and jam, along with different kinds of pastries in front of them.
“He’s his usual annoying self.”
“Have you talked?”
“Not really. He just waves at me whenever he sees me. He must have gotten a warning from his team to back off.”
Koushi scoffs, immediately regretting it when he feels the throbbing in his ribs.
“Thank God for that amazing intervention. Very effective.”
His tone is resentful, but he is happy to hear a small huff of amusement from his teammate.
“I know, right? Justice is served.”
They continue eating, that is Sawamura eating and Koushi pushing around his food, barely able to stand breathing let alone stomaching breakfast.
“Is the pain that bad?” Sawamura nods toward the untouched food.
“It’s not unbearable.” Only when I’m not drugged. “I just don’t have an appetite.”
“You should eat something…”
“I’ll eat later” Koushi lies.
Five days ago he would have been furious at him for this comment, but instead he finds his need to look after him endearing and surprisingly genuine. These gestures also don’t help with the feelings stirring in his stomach.
Why is he warming to this clumsy, too-nice-for-his-own-good boy from District One?
The reason is lost on him.
What is terribly evident to him is the shame that swallows him whole the few times he has dared to picture Daichi’s lips on his, his arms around his frail body, his head resting on his wounded chest.
Those images are guaranteed to lead him to the ever familiar feeling of self-loathing, yet he still finds himself entertaining…exactly what he isn’t sure.
Actually, he doesn’t want to find out.
*
The day goes on with Koushi dragging his feet around the apartment, desperately trying to complete the steps assigned by the doctors while hanging on to Yamaguchi, who has taken it upon him to help.
The pain is crushing, each step making him feel as if his chest is constricting his lungs more and more, leaving him breathless.
“Sugawara, you should take a break…”, Yamaguchi says after hearing his soft sniffles.
He is so lost in his concentration that he didn’t even notice he is crying.
“We still have about five more minutes. I got it.”
Yesterday, he successfully tried to walk without passing out right away. He insisted to Sawamura that he didn’t have the strength to get up, simply not bearing the idea of him being his literal crutch. They will have plenty of time for that at the Games. So he waited for him to leave for training and enlisted a worrisome Yamaguchi in order to do a few laps around the living room. At first he screamed, holding onto the boy so tight he left marks on his arm. Then, he sobbed, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to lie back down after five minutes.
Today, he made it a goal to walk for ten. He grunts and tries to suffer as quietly as possible, in order to not alarm Yamaguchi. He couldn’t stand facing the servant’s look of pity.
*
By the fifth day out of the clinic, he is walking without any help. He leans on any available surface and forces this torture onto himself for an hour.
This is what you get, is the only thing he mentally repeats to himself, like a prayer.
This is what you get for speaking up.
This is what you get for being weak.
This is what you get for being a sinner.
He makes so many rounds that by the time he throws his body on the couch everything is spinning.
“You are overexerting yourself”, Yamaguchi calls from the kitchen with a pleading voice. He is preparing lunch while keeping an eye on Koushi.
“It’s either this…or…I die”, Koushi retorts between pants.
The drugs he is instructed to take make his pain bearable for a few hours, before their effect fades and he is almost immobilised by his aching ribs. He can only take one pill every twenty four hours, the doctors warning him of an overdose, so he saves his one tablet for the night, in order to be able to fall asleep. His eyes have improved considerably, thanks to the creams he has been given.
Koushi is simultaneously impressed and irked by the fact that Capitolean medicine seems to have a much more immediate result in pain reduction in comparison to the medicine they are given back home, which almost always bears a sticker with a false expiration date, hiding the actual one. He vividly remembers his sister’s horrid ear infection which lasted a year before their father could get his hands on some effective drops from the black market.
The pain is so all-consuming, he can’t even pray. The only thing he hopes to God for is to make it stop, although he is convinced that God can’t hear him. Did he ever hear him?
He didn’t when he prayed all through the night for his father to survive, nor when he begged him to make him like girls.
He still foolishly tries to reach out.
He is about to summon the strength to stand and go to his room, when the doorbell rings, making him jump.