Archive of Our Own ^beta

Two wooden beams hung low. The damp rank tinging them a darker color. The smell of sick permeates the air.

‘Oh’, Thinks Lighter, ‘I’m in the hospital.’

It’s a small relief that there isn’t any mold growing on the walls this time. There hasn’t been ever since he’s started winning. Or, well, ever since his patrons began to notice anyway.

He forces his aching arms up. Just as he expects, they’ve been bandaged from his arms right up to the tips of his fingers. He should call a doctor, let someone know he’s awake, let someone know that blood was leaking through the coarse white bandages. He can feel the searing pain on his arms, he knows how fucked his skin is under the cloth, but he doesn’t want to see it.

He lays his arms back down, he doesn’t make a peep. He’s so tired, and the room is dark and warm. He closes his eyes and lets life take him to wherever it goes next.

When he wakes up, his bandages have been changed. They’re a little less loose, a little less messy, but Lighter doesn’t say a word. He’s not sure what he’s meant to think about them anyway.

Lighter Lorenz hasn’t thought much on the topic of his death. He knows it’s bound to happen soon, what with his body getting bruised up every other day, but he doesn’t like thinking about it. When he dies… he hopes to see them again. He wants to see them again so badly, he wants to apologize and grovel and cry… but does he even deserve that?

He can’t die yet. So long as he fights, he can scrape together a meager bit of cash. He needs to take care of their families, he owes them that much. So he has to live, and he has to fight.

He wont let himself think of dying, not yet.

… but it’s hard when death follows him so closely.

He has a roommate. He hadn’t noticed, until now, when the sounds of their choking woke him up. They’re separated by only a thin curtain, Lighter cannot see, but he can hear. His roommate gasps desperately for air, every molecule scrapes against their throat as they force down gulp after gulp. When the pain gets too much, they slip on a breath, erupting into coughs and struggles to remember how to inhale.

Specks of dark liquid stain the curtain, theres rustling, clacking, and a pill box is hurled at the opposite wall. The noise is finally enough to have a nurse peeking in.

“D-doctor! Get the doctor!” There’s yelling and screaming, there’s noise, noise, noise—!

“Hello? Mr Champion, sir?” Someone snaps their fingers in front of his face. It’s a nurse. She’s pulling at his bandages, nodding at nothing in particular, “Well, your injuries were surface level, and you look well rested, so you’re alright to go.”

She handles him awkwardly, and she barely looks at his wounds. Lighter wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t a real nurse at all.

When they pass by the other bed, he steals a look at the struggling patient. He doesn’t catch much from the thrashing, save for a pale thin hand that grips at the doctor’s coat. Veins bulge between distended knuckles. Their skin is white. No matter how much they struggle and breathe and fail and breathe again and fail— their hand is bone white.

Whoever that was was already a corpse.

They were dying, and it looked like it hurt.

Lighter’s not sure what to think about it, when he dies, would it be just as painful? Would anyone even try to save him?

His skin doesn’t quite burn anymore.

It’s a pathetic two days until Lighter lands himself in the hospital again. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he just can’t move his arm anymore. It didn’t matter, he still won.

He’s put into the same room, the one on the top floor, furthest from hubbub of illegal fighters, mercs and the rest of the sick without enough money to go anywhere else. He used to sit amongst them, the smell of salt and sweat  heavy in the air. It’s a miracle he never got sicker after being treated by the ‘not quite’ doctors.

Even as a VIP patient, the treatment isn’t too different. All nurses look around surreptitiously, and the doctors are more bark than bite, talking his ear off about ailments he’s certain aren’t real. The one that attends him today is no different. ‘A dislocated shoulder.’ He announces, popping the joint back in callously, uncaring of the strained grunt of his patient or the way Lighter’s arm trembles after it all.

The man pats himself on the back and sweeps out of the room.

At least it’s quiet again. With nothing left to do, he lets his eyes fall shut and drifts off.

When he wakes up again, surprisingly it isn’t because he’s dying, or somebody else is dying. It isn’t the nurses or the doctors coming to heckle him. Instead, there’s a bright eyed young man leaning over the edge of his edge of his bed, running a hand over his shoulder.

“Oh. You’re not asleep this time?” Asks the man. He had mid length black hair that fell onto his eyes and gauze wrapped around his neck. His skin was a greyish white, pale enough for it to blend into the hospital gown he was wearing.

‘A gown?’ Lighter never knew this place had gowns. You stayed in the clothes you came in, regardless of blood or grime. Then this man was a patient, one unlike any other Lighter had seen before. He was void of bruises and scars, aside from sunken in eyes and his ashen pallor, he didn’t look like he belonged here at all.

The man didn’t mind Lighter’s curious gaze, padding over to a splintering cabinet and pulling out some random implements. “Don’t mind the doctors here. Man, it seriously feels like half the staff here have never even seen a patient before.”

“I’m gonna make you a splint, okay?” He tells the boxer, setting the items, (Bandages, some wooden sticks, clips and scissors) onto the bedside table. “Don’t worry, when you’ve been stuck in a hospital as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two.”

True to his words, the patient makes quick work of his shoulder. His short knobby fingers were shockingly adept as they wound the gauze over his shoulder, pulling the joints snuggly into place. He’s good, and he knows it too, winking playfully as he finishes off a knot.

‘Woah, woah, woah! Don’t do that! You’ll ruin my hard work!” He chastises when Lighter tries to roll the joint. He blocked owlishly at the miffed patient. The splint feels good, secure, he just wanted to test it was all.

“Just rest, don’t try moving it until you recover!” The patient huffs, pushing him lightly back onto the mattress. Lighter goes down without a complaint. He… he doesn’t need to fight here. There’s nothing for him to fight. The patient’s golden eyes sparkle in the sun, “Looks like you were tired after all. Try not to sleep for too long, the nurses wont give you food if you do. They sure didn’t last time~”

Last time?

Was there a  last time?

No… he’s just met this man today… hasn’t he?

Come to think of it, his bandages were suspiciously well done that day, weren’t they?

That man… his hands were pale and smooth, his fingers were thin…

That couldn’t be right… because his neighbor that day… died.

He was dead.

Lighter wakes up to a muffled cough. He’s faced with the same damp blue from two days ago. Behind that curtain is a man who should be dead. He remembers the coughing the trashing the panicked hushed whispers of the nurses.

What will he see, when he pulls back the curtain?

With a shaky breath he grabs the edge of curtain and —

“Oh, so now you’re awake.” His neighbor was cross with him and only gets angrier when he actually looks over. “Don’t lean on your shoulder like that! Are you stupid?!”

His face was so expressive, the evening light made him glow. This man was so full of life. So alive—

He was about to die the other day. How did he? How was he—?

“Here, you can take some of mine. Master will definitely feed me more later.” His neighbor shoves him back into a resting position and offers him apple slices from his own plate. Lighter’s eaten twice out of his 30 or so hospital visits here. The nurses are stingy and unless you catch one during meal time, you wouldn’t get to eat at all.

“Hey. Did you hear me?” The apple gets pressed onto his lips, “I’m starting to get why you ended up here twice now. If you want to get better, you need to eat!”

If you want to get better. Says the man who almost died. He’s the same person, Lighter is almost sure, ‘almost’ because should a dead man shouldn’t be this much of a brat.

Lighter needs to fight. He needs to get up, to move his arm again, and to get back into ring. What he wants has never mattered. He doesn’t want to ‘get better’ he doesn’t want for anything at all.

But the man wants him to eat.

So he opens his mouth and lets himself be fed.

He’s rewarded with a smile. It is small and gentle, and it a product from someone who was alive.

He’s not so sure how to feel about this.

His neighbor’s name is Harumasa. The man had introduced himself smilingly, “If we’re going to be seeing each other often, I might as well tell you~”

Harumasa is a strange one. He’s a patient who treats him better than the staff do, who doesn’t look sick or desperate. He’s surprisingly easygoing despite the circumstances they’re in. Even when Lighter showed up with a gash through his torso from a metal chair, all he got from Harumasa was a wince, a funny comment and then a cleaned wound so that it wouldn’t get infected.

Lighter isn’t sure how he keeps getting assigned to Harumasa’s room, but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. This way, he doesn’t go to sleep in a limbo, wondering what will happen when he wakes. He has few certainties in his life, and Harumasa was quickly becoming one of them.

He’s terrified of what that means.

The world is cruel, life is cruel, people are only nice when they can afford to be. Harumasa has never once left this one hospital room. He doesn’t bother looking out the door when Lighter gets discharged, he’s stuck, he’s sick, he has nothing, not even ownership over the gown he’s forced to wear day after day.

Harumasa is impossibly nice. By all means, he shouldn’t be… and Lighter should stop looking forward to his presence.

He should stop wanting for that sweet voice to coax him into resting, for him to start talking about the medical charts he swiped the other day because he didn’t have anything else to read, to try out some new hair styles since Harumasa couldn’t style his own.

The worst part of Harumasa was that was attentive, scarily so.

Without even turning to face him, he could tell if Lighter was bored, in pain, hungry, whatever. The smaller man had him figured out and he hasn’t even said a word to him.

He doesn’t want to be a burden Harumasa. He’s too kind, and that kindness should be spent on someone better. Someone who isn’t him.

A rush of guilt floods him when he realizes that the thought makes him sick. He wants Harumasa. He wants to keep coming back to him. He doesn’t deserve him at all, and yet here he is, gluttonously taking up all his time and energy.

He digs his nails into his palm. It hurt. It was this selfishness of his, that had—

“Can’t sleep?” Lighter startles. A pair of mischievous eyes peek out from behind the curtain. Even in the dim moonlight, they glitter like gems, “You’ve been so broody lately, what’s wrong with you?”

He noticed. Of course he noticed. Nothing ever escapes his keen sight. Lighter rolls onto his side, a sad attempt to hide his face from his neighbor. Said neighbor gasps in offense at action and Lighter hears him shuck off his covers. “How dare you! I’m trying to be nice to you even though you woke me up with all your incessant thinking!”

What? Before him, stands Harumasa in all his 160cm glory, clad in a thin gown and thinner hospital slippers with his arms crossed and his mouth in a pout.

“Come on, get up. You owe me for being rude and mean!” With all the strength of a little fledgling bird, Harumasa yanks him onto his feet. He orders Lighter to, as quietly as he can, put the bedside table against the far wall.

“Hmm… Yep. It should hold.” He steps onto the makeshift stool, offering his hand to the much larger man, “C’mon Lighter, you owe me this much.” He waves his hand, coaxing the boxer closer. Lighter does owe him, he owes him much more than he can ever repay.

At the top of their room is a small window. It’s the brightest source of light they had and their only view to the world outside. There’s nothing to see from here, just a road in the distance, beyond that are a few towering hollows. However, Harumasa is captivated, he lifts himself onto his toes, eyes wide as he takes in the foreign scenery.

Taking pity on his smaller friend, Lighter lifts him into his arms. Harumasa is still warm from sleep, Lighter can feel his skin through the thin barrier of his meagre clothes.

“It’s pretty isn’t it?” He breathes, voice full of awe. Lighter gives him a puzzled look. There’s nothing in the distance, sand, maybe, some cacti here and there. Are they looking at the same sight?

His confusion isn’t enough to dampen his neighbor’s spirit. He points to the skyline, where the desert meets the black night.

“I like colors of the sand. I think that shade of yellow looks beautiful against the dark blue.” He says, then he points further up, “And up there are the stars, that one’s my favorite, it’s the brightest, and the closest to the moon, I’d like to think that they’re friends. Over there I see a cactus. I’ve never seen one up close, but master drew one for me once. I won’t admit they’re real until I see one up close!”

He nudges Lighter to get his attention. Lighter was watching him anyways.

“Hey, you get to go out there right? What’s it like?” He asks. Lighter… used to like the dessert, he liked riding fast over the cracked roads. He liked the wind in his hair and the sun on his skin… he liked it when he friends were alive, when they’d have each other’s back, pulling themselves in and out of trouble, laughing over all their exploits.

He’d never see them again.

What… was he supposed to say?

There. He points to a cloud of dust, tinged indigo under the dark night. It was barely there, almost unnoticeable. Harumasa leans forward, “Is that… a motorbike?”

Lighter nods.

“Woah, you’ve ridden one before? I’ve seen them in books, to be honest I can’t imagine you on one.” Harumasa swings his legs. “I wonder what that must feel like. How fast can you go?”

Lighter wonders what kind of books Harumasa’s been reading, if he actually knows what a motorbike is. How long has he been in the outer ring that he’s never seen one in person? Lighter doesn’t have his bike anymore, he sold it when he joined the fighting ring, but the memories that stayed were of…

Wind.

For all that Harumasa has given him, all the care, all the company, he’s never given anything back. If there’s even a small chance for reciprocity…

He reaches up for the latch on window.

“No!” Harumasa catches his arm, his grip was tight around him. Did he not like the dry night air that much? “Don’t—! Don’t do that… I, um, my lungs aren’t that great. If any sand gets in here, I’ll…”

He remembers that first night, the coughing, the blood, the chaos of keeping death at bay.

Oh… that explains quite a bit. Harumasa has never been outside. He never has- never will feel the wind through his hair, the sun on his skin. He will stay in this room. He will stay.

There isn’t much he can do. It’s a small thoughtless gesture, it wont achieve anything at all. He blows lightly over Harumasa’s head.

The wind feels like this. When I’m riding on my bike, and the world around me blurs, the wind is there to remind me where I am, it’s cooling even under the desert sun, its thrilling to feel it, to know how fast I can be.

Harumasa was shockingly well groomed for a sickly man trapped in a rundown hospital. His hair was soft, the strands could bounce with Lighter’s breath. He wondered if he was allowed to touch it.

“Hey… don’t make that face, are you sad for me?” Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t notice those pale hands reaching out for his face. Harumasa cupped his cheeks in his too thin, too cold palms, “Don’t be… I’m perfectly fine being in here. The room is clean, I get food everyday, the wood makes cute noises when I tap on it and… you! You make me happy! I hope you feel the same.”

I don’t deserve this I don’t deserve this Idontdeservethis—

Lighter hopes that his friend’s keen eyes never see through him. He selfishly hopes that Harumasa never realises the kind of person he really is.

‘I hope you stay sick.’ He wishes he never had these thoughts be he does, he does and he keeps thinking them, ‘I hope you stay sick and that you never leave.’

‘I hope you stay sick and safe in this hospital.’

‘I hope you stay sick, so I can see you again when I come here’

‘I hope we both get injured for life.’

His cheeks get squished. “Hey, big guy, stop being sad, I mean it, you can’t sleep well if you keep thinking about nonsense.” Harumasa plays with his face innocently. He presses his thumbs into the divots of his cheeks. Amusing himself the with smile he forces onto Lighter’s face.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed!” The smaller man has no issues tugging him off the stool and onto the bed. He makes a space for himself at the mattress’s edge, slotting himself into the dip by Lighter’s waist. “If you really feel that bad about it, then rest up and get better for me. All the things I can’t experience outside, I want you to feel them for me. Okay?”

Harumasa keeps smiling at him. The lines of his mouth are sharp, but his his eyes are bright and gentle. No wonder he doesn’t need the sky outside, he’s bright enough on his own. A lonely little star, basking in his own light.

Lighter puts one arm around him. The bed is small, he doesn’t want Harumasa to fall over.

Sleep comes easy that night.

Lighter wants to know what Harumasa is sick with. The little man talks too much, yet after reflection, Lighter realises that he doesn’t know a thing about him at all. Harumasa has always skirted around the topic of his illness. He talks about the sky, his books, the gossip he hears through the walls, but never about himself.

It isn’t his business. He should respect Harumasa’s privacy. It’s what he should do.

The last time he got careless. He lost—

The doctor  in charge of their room was an unkind, aloof, stick of a man. He had long dry hair held up by a worn yellow head band and scratchy glasses that hid his eyes. This man was the reason why Lighter kept getting sent to this room. His patron had sneered as he said the words, ‘I can’t have my best fighter dying on me. The good doctor will get you back on your feet.’

This doctor didn’t seem very good at all.

He barely spoke to Lighter, sometimes after a single checkup, he’d hand him off to someone else and then Harumasa would have to take care of him.

He was also the man who kept Harumasa alive that day.

As much as he skimped off on Lighter’s treatment, he never showed the same flippancy when it came to Harumasa. Every evening, just before dinner, Harumasa would politely inform him that it was almost time for his medication. He’d remind him to sit behind the curtain and stay quiet so the doctor could concentrate.

Then Harumasa, sweet, bubbly Harumasa who always had something to say about anything, would hush up when the doctor stepped through the door.

Like a good friend, Lighter has always complied. Once or twice he’s tried to listen in. There would be nothing but soft breathing and the occasional tapping of metal and plastics. The only indication that treatment was over was when the doctor vacated the room.

Whatever had happened behind that curtain would tire Harumasa out. He’d be dead asleep and by the time he woke, there would always be something else to discuss. Something that wasn’t his illness or his treatment.

Lighter would like to say that it was a coincidence, catching the doctor for chat. A happy stroke of luck. It was not.

He’d stacked his pillows up and chucked the blanket over the pile. He’d hidden in the adjacent bathroom, counting the seconds, listening to the creaking wood. He’d kept his footsteps light, made sure no-one would hear him.

When he rounds the corner, he walks into an intimate scene. The doctor is sat next to his patient, his tools lay forgotten next to him. One ungloved hand rests on a too pale cheek. Harumasa is a delicate sleeper, he breathes softly and stays so very still. The doctor stands vigil over him, pushing the stray baby hairs into place. Each movement a mere millimeter from the skin, surgically precise and done with absolute care.

“Lighter Lorenz.” The man speaks. His hand does not stop, he does not need to look over. “It’s rude to stare.”

It’s been too long since he’s ever had the strength to care. Too long since he’s bothered with anything other than a fight. His instinct tells him to stand between the two, to shake the doctor down and get some answers. His head tells him this man will not be easily intimidated. There are too many questions he wants to ask:

‘What is he ill with?’ ‘Why is he here?’ ‘Who is he to you?’

Instead what comes out of his mouth is: “I want to protect him.”

The doctor is neither amused nor interested in his sudden proclamation. It’s a better use of his time to sort his tools that to pay heed to his scatterbrained sometimes-patient.

“Don’t bother, he’ll be cured.” He dismisses, not once does he turn to face the boxer. His back, a looming wall between Lighter and the frail young man resting beneath him.

Lighter wants to protest, a cure from his sickness is not all he needs, what about the dangers outside these four walls? The mercs and gangsters and the ever present hollows? Lighter could help protect him. He can’t stand another loss, he needs to be there for him. He can’t find his voice. It’s too much at once.

The opportunity he made for himself falls out of his hands, again and again, he proves himself to be worthless.

The doctor tucks his patient into the bedding, “Mr Lorenz,” he says on his way out, “Repeated stressors on your body will cause you permanent damage.”

His eyes are cold, yet something behind his irises burns red and hot.

“I hope not to see you again.”

These days, Lighter isn’t afraid of being knocked out. He wins, because he must, but he lets himself rest too.

The referee lifts him by the arm, the crowd screams his name. Somewhere in that mess, his patrons leer, money exchanges hands. From the rusty ceilings, several spotlights shine upon him in a myriad of colours, the heat of them burn, the lights bounce off the fight cage, every inch of his vision shimmers. All of it is stained white.

It hurts. Lighter isn’t afraid. It hurts.

He rests easy, his head clears, everything fades to black.

He no longer wonders if he will live or die. He knows that either way, he will be greeted by an angel.

“Hey, big guy, you with me?” He can hear him. Lighter can hear the angel. They’re separated by an ocean of water in his ears, but he can feel cold skin against his. Where is he? Where is Harumasa? Why can’t he— “Don’t move! Hey! Calm down! Someone—! Master! Master help me!”

Why can’t he see?

He hasn’t lost his vision. That’s what Harumasa tells him when things calm down. Photophobia, that’s what he’s stuck with now. Too much light will give him migraines, especially now, when his wounds are still tender.

A mask is placed over his eyes. He is not allowed to remove it. Will he be forced to wear it forever?

His condition is serious enough to warrant ‘proper supervision’. The doctor looks after Lighter himself, though Lighter thinks he’s just more comfortable now that the boxer’s been blinded. He knows he the man’s more than eager to capitalize on his lost senses. He can hear him shuffle about the room much more often. Harumasa’s side of the room.

He grazes the edge of the mask. He can’t see Harumasa…

“Good morning, sleepyhead~” A voice rings out, sweet and bubbly, “It’s hard to tell when you’re awake now that I can’t see you- ah?”

Lighter finds a hand. The wrist is thin enough for him to encircle with one hand, there are prominent callouses on the underside of his hand. He follows the arm up, there’s a bony shoulder, then the neck with the bandage on it. A strong jaw, sharp cheeks, long lashes, dry lips.

It’s Harumasa who places a hand over his own curious touch. “I’m here.” He reassures, letting the larger man feel over the contours of his face, “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s irrational, how Lighter needs it to be said. There’s nowhere else for him to go, but even as he drifts in and out of sleep, he doesn’t let go of Haru’s hand.

Harumasa takes it upon himself to shut out the window. He brushes off all of Lighters worries and tugs down the curtain between them. “It’ll be fine!” He singsongs as he clambers up the wall. Lighter hears some huffing, the strain of cloth as it knots together, and then the room is plunged into darkness. He takes a chance and peeks out from under his eyelids.

“Hi there,” His angel smiles, “how are we feeling?”

Lighter smiles back, its an unconscious action, one that he doesn’t bother trying to suppress. Even just the vague shape of Harumasa in the darkness is a relief after days and days of nothingness.

He pulls the smaller man into his arms. Harumasa fits perfectly on his lap, he doesn’t seem to mind the embrace either, snuggling into Lighter’s neck like he belongs there.

Lighter pretends that he does. It’s so easy to do so too. In the darkness he can pretend that theres nothing but them, that the harsh light outside doesn’t exist, that he needs to fight at all. He could stay in this bubble with Harumasa forever.

Until Harumasa himself breaks the spell by calling him, “Champion~”

“Hehe, I hope you don’t mind, I guess I got a little too curious.” He giggles, running his hands over Lighter’s biceps, “Though, I’d guessed you were a fighter from the start, I never thought you’d have hold the title of ‘Champion’… you’re just so…”

‘—strong!’ A large hand comes down on his back, eyes leer down at him, stripping him apart, counting him for all he’s worth ‘The boy’s never lost a fight! He’s an easy bet, the strongest fighter, he’s—’

“Lame~” Harumasa tugs the vowels, kicking his feet, “You must be the lamest champion there ever was.”

The shock must shines through his face, because even the dark, Harumasa takes great amusement in just looking at him, “Aww, don’t look at me like that. What kind of Champion gets so beat up all the time, are we sure you’re really winning your fights? Chapmion?”

“…d-don’t call me that.” His voice sounds terrible, scratchy from disuse. He hasn’t had to talk to anyone for a long time. He hasn’t bothered to really. He’d thought maybe, he could one up the little man with it. Be the one to surprise him for once.

Instead, he is met with the pleased curl of Harumasa’s lips.

“Mm? What should I call you then, big guy? Cutie? How about Lov-“

“Lighter Lorenz.” He speaks his name for the first time in many years, gives it to someone he’s already given his heart to, someone he wants to have in return, “What’s yours?”

“Lighter Lorenz… have you forgotten already? It’s Harumasa!” The young man acts oblivious. Lighter knows better than to act shy with him by now.

“What about… your family name?” He asks slowly. Harumasa stiffens slightly, his eyes flick over to the door.

“Family name, hm…” In an instant, his caution is replaced with mischievousness, “Well, my family name is super precious. There’s no way I’m giving it to you for free~”

“Ooh! That’s a scary face you’re making, I never said wasn’t going to tell you, you just have to work for it, Lighter.” Harumasa teases, he cups his hands over the boxer’s face, holding his hair out of his eyes. His fingers tread lightly around a bruise by his eye, the swelling had gone down, but it was still an ugly black. “I bet this face is suuuuuper handsome without all the frowning and the pouting and the bruises and blood.”

He’s gentle when he makes his next request, Lighter can see it for what it is, “The next time I see you, I want your face to be unbruised. I want you to take care of yourself, and if you get yourself injured on purpose, you’ll never get to know. Okay? That’s the deal.”

He hold his pinky up, leaves it to Lighter to take that step. I want to see you, but I don’t want you hurt or sick. I like you too much, so take my hand.

How could Lighter ever say no?

When was the last time he cared about his appearance. Lighter, hasn’t thought about it. Back when his friends were still alive, when he was out rough housing and cruising and getting petty crushes on fleeting people. Yeah, he’d slick his hair back sometimes, maybe he’d dress up.

‘I want to see your face. I bet you’re handsome without all the bruises.’

Keeping his face neat was easy compared to that. The only thing that made it difficult was the erratic tempo his heart was making as he did. All he did was wipe his sweat off his forehead and brush his bangs out of his eyes. It wasn’t difficult to do, but he kept doing it, worried he might’ve done it wrong.

Over and over, he was checking his reflection in windows, puddles and rearview mirrors. It had been a week since then, a week of flawless wins, of his frazzled energy being funneled into moving faster, hitting harder. A week until the good doctor insisted to his patron that he needed a follow up appointment.

Lighter wasn’t surprised in the least that the doctor hadn’t even shown up to the appointment. Nor at the flippant way he was handled and dismissed. All that was on his mind was the route upstairs, to that little room at the end of the corridor.

One last time, he brushes some stray hairs back into place.

“-t belong.” There’s a dead conversation hanging in the air. Not long after, the doctor rounds the corner. “Mr Lorenz, you seem well.” He greets the other stiffly, “Your checkup should only take 20 minutes, nothing more.” He says, and then he’s gone.

Lighter has to squint again, the curtain had been returned to its original position. He was expecting for Harumasa to jump out at him, for his bright voice to greet him as he stepped through the door. Instead, he wades through the pregnant silence, peering through the gaps of his lashes until he sees his Haru on the bed.

The black haired man was laid prone on his back, wires and tubing crawled up over him, some attached to needles in his skin, others made their way under his gown. The cheap rubber held him captive, weighing down his arm as he tried to reach for the boxer.

“You’re… here…” He breathed through the oxygen mask, “Sorry… about the mess… I got… so worked up I… made myself… sick…”

“Harumasa!” Lighter gasped as he stumbled over his own feet. His angel was paler than ever, his skin almost gray, and his hand trembled where it lay in Lighter’s. In spite of everything, he manages to laugh.

“Sorry, sorry… I just love being right.” He beckons the boxer closer, looking over all his hard work, “I knew you were pretty… the prettiest…”

“Oh… oh no, don’t cry… Lighter—“ How strange, that even though it was Harumasa who was dying, who was trapped in his body with his life slowly fading away, that it was Lighter who was still weaker.

He really was pathetic.

“Hey, hey Lighter… I need to… tell you a… a secret… Is… master still… here?” Harumasa tugs him closer, his voice was growing weaker and weaker, his eyelids fluttered, threatening to close, still he forces his head to turn, to look for the doctor. He was paranoid, despite all his physical ailments, he needed to make sure this stayed between them. “I promised… my name… my family name… it’s Asaba.”

Lighter gulps, flexes his throat around the syllables for the first time, “…Asaba Harumasa…”

“Haha! I… like the… sound of that…” He looses, his eyes fall shut, his fingers still tap around searching for the tears he knows are there, “Lighter… stop crying…”

“Not for free! You have to make me a promise too! Live! Asaba Harumasa, you’re going to live!” Lighter takes the smaller man’s hand, closes the slack fingers over his pinky. He leans down, he needs Harumasa to hear him, he needs to, somehow, protect him. He doesn’t know what to do, but hide him from the pervasive light, shield him under his own broader body. “You have to recover, and I’m going to take you motorbiking. You’ll watch the stars and see a real cactus. Promise me!”

He wants Harumasa to laugh at him, to call him silly and mock him for being desperate. But the man on the bed can only twitch his fingers, eyes shut fast.

“Mmkay… I’ll get you… sunglasses… let’s… let’s go out…”

Lighter takes the promise. If Harumasa wakes and doesn’t remember, he’ll remind him.

“So even a mutt can clean up well.”

Lighter’s patron never pays him any heed. Outside of fights he doesn’t have any actual value after all. The second hand suit thrown his way comes straight out of left field. The fancy banquet he’s taken to is even further out.

The elites there pat him good-naturedly, they call him ‘boy’, ‘son’, yet he’s paraded around like some well bred horse. The crystal chandeliers and bubbly champagne grow cold fast when Lighter realises he’s back in the ring, fighting another fight, one trussed up in jewels and gold.

At least he isn’t alone, some of the guests here look like they’re being pulled by leashes, some have dead eyes, and others shift uncomfortably under ill fitted clothes.

“—he’s been doing great thus far, hasn’t lost me a match yet. The cherry on top’s that doctor you found me. I think he’s gotten better since I’ve hooked the two up.” Lighter perks up. The doctor? Harumasa’s doctor? The one he calls ‘Master'?

“Well, well, Mr Lorenz, you’ve really made a name for yourself now. Won me a few pretty Dennies too.” Someone says to him. Was he supposed to know who he was? He looks the man over, maybe he knows the shape of his face, or the knife of his smile, but he isn’t sure, those early years were a blur for him, nothing but his friend’s death played in his head back then. He doesn’t bother with Lighter’s response, none of them do. “You think we should reward ‘im? Throw the dog a bone?”

The man and his patron laughs. Lighter didn’t hear a joke.

“Go on then, boy, take your pick and don’t hold back. A champion needs a deserving prize.” His patron leers, gesturing out to the dining hall. Some of the guests and all of the attendants take notice, they follow the movement up to Lighter’s built frame. Most of them take a step back.

“… I can have a person?” Is what he understands from that. If the doctor is under their purview too then can he…? They guffaw, at his interest, egg him on. “There is a man I want. The one who shares the room with me at the hospital.”

At that, the room quiets down, the gazes on him shift, “At the hospital? Oh, I see… he’s taken with that little waif that Dr Asaba keeps squirreled away.”

Lighter blinks. Dr Asaba? But isn’t that name…

A pit forms in his stomach as the chatter picks up around him.

“I’ve only heard of him. The doctor is very possessive of what’s his.”

“I’ve seen him once. What such a shame, he’s a gorgeous little thing, the doctor would make more out of him if he used him whole instead of scrapping him for parts.”

“How old is he again? Most of the doctor’s kids don’t make it out of childhood.”

“That’s why he’s the favorite. Though, with a face like that, he’d easily be my favorite too.”

“We could buy the boy for the beast once the doctor is done. It won’t be long now, I suspect Dr Asaba must be finishing up with his research. What state he will leave the child in? I’m not too sure.”

“Mr Lorenz, how long can you wait for your prize?”

Dozens of eyes pin him to his seat. There’s something horribly wrong with all these people. They’re all sick. Sicker than Harumasa could ever be. How could they say such dreadful things with such placid smiles.

Then, his thoughts stray to the doctor… Doctor Asaba… Could man really be so cruel? To experiment on their own children? The pieces start falling together, how the nurses never enter unless its an emergency, how Harumasa has stayed so long without a family member paying for his treatment, the strange wordless relationship between him and… the doctor… his father.

He wants to throw up.

Don’t. Hold yourself together, Lighter.

He needs to go back to the hospital. He needs to find Harumasa. Now.

Harumasa…

Harumasa, wake up!

“Mm… Mas? …Lighter?” Harumasa rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Why was Lighter here? A simple once over tells him all he needs to know. He’s awake in an instant, “Lighter your arm!” He gasps at the patch of red running down from his shoulder.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Lighter waives him off. He needed the injury to force his patron’s hand, the pain was nothing in the face of what he needed to do. He clasps the smaller man’s hands in his own. “Harumasa, run away with me.”

“… Lighter, I think you might be suffering from blood loss. Let me see your wound.” Harumasa insists.

“No. No, hear me out,” Lighter begs. He knows Harumasa is skeptical, but he will listen, he’s the only one who ever listens, “Your doctor, the man you call ‘Master’, he was never going to cure you.” Harumasa’s jaw goes slack, his eyes widen, but shocked maybe, but not surprised? Has he known deep down? Good. “He’s using you for an experiment, I don’t know what for yet, but we can’t stay here. Come with me, I’ll take you to a another hospital, a real one, I’ll figure something out for us!”

“Lighter…” The man perks up. He’s prepared for anything, disbelief, avoidance, anything, “…you don’t have to do this. Not for me.”

“No, Haru, you don’t understand, you’re being experimented on, I can-” A hand claps over his mouth.

“I know.” Says his angel. “I know what Master intends for me. He told me long ago what he did and he offered me the option to leave. I stayed.”

“… what?” Lighter cant accept what he’s saying. This was Harumasa. His bright, bubbly friend who always gave him hope for tomorrow, who always insisted on Lighter’s life having value.

“Lighter… I… I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. I’m not going to live long even if I run away. Master’s research could save so many people, if my short life could contribute to that… I’d hand it over again and again.” He says, tone solemn, peeling Lighter’s fingers off of him one after another.

“But… you promised… you promised that we’d go outside together…” the boxer mumbles, brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. Harumasa gives him one of his cheeky smiles. It brings him no comfort.

“I did and we will. Just, after Master’s done.” Harumasa tells him as if it was a good compromise at all, “It wont be long now alright?”

‘—what state will he leave that child in? I’m not sure.’

“Lighter… I’m glad you think so highly of me, but I can’t be the only thing you have… let’s go make some more good memories for you, okay? I was never going to be here for long.”

Lighter blinks away the sting in his eyes, “You’re a liar and a hypocrite.” He accuses, “All this bullshit about getting better and you never even thought of living.”

“I’m being realistic-”

“You’re throwing your life away! All to some freak who kills children!” Lighter yells as his rage boils over. That’s the breaking point, that’s what closes Harumasa off to him. Soft gentility is traded out for a flat expression.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, choosing his words carefully. Harumasa was always careful his words, it didn’t feel like he was doing so out of kindness this time. Lighter didn’t have the capacity to process that at the moment, instead he bites back, “Maybe not, but pubsec will.”

The smaller man sucks in a breath, “You called the cops….” His expression hardens, “Lighter Lorenz, you have no idea what you’ve just done!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your help!” Harumasa kicks off the bed and drops to his knees. Lighter tries to help him when he realizes, the other hadn’t fell. He was reaching for something under the bed.

Harumasa coughs from the light dust, but his hands do not stray. They are steady where they hold a bow and arrow pointed straight at him.

“Don’t follow me, Lighter. I will shoot.” He nearly growls. Lighter has never seen this side of him before. He’s never stopped to think that Harumasa could ever be a threat.

The low whistle of sirens could be heard in the distance, it sets the shorter man off. He backs up, arrow nocked, not once straying until he rounds the corner and disappears from Lighter’s sight.

The shock takes too long to wear off. The boxer has to shake the stillness off of his bones and force his body to start moving. Harumasa… doesn’t understand, there has to be something he could’ve said. He needs to say it, he needs to keep the smaller man safe, it cant be too late.

But it is.

The hospital is falling into disarray, mercs, proxies and unlicensed practitioners scramble in a mad rush to escape the incoming police.

Harumasa. He needs to find Harumasa!

Lighter wades through the mess of bodies, searching for that one special person. People are shouting and screaming, his own yells are drowned out by the noise. He digs his heels in, and presses forward.

Lighter does not reach him.

He only catches a glimpse of raven hair when the crowd thins out, when the officers have already caught some stragglers in their grasp.

He’s there! Surrounded by a small group of officers, they beckon him over to a car. Something’s wrong. Harumasa’s struggling against the cops, but they aren’t treating him roughly in turn. Harumasa’s efforts are weak, too weak. One hand tugs at an officer’s sleeve, but the other is busy with his own collar. He can’t breathe, Lighter realizes. He needs to go over there, he needs to protect him… he promised himself, he wouldn’t loose this one too—!

“Oh no, you don’t!” A large hand clamps down on his still bleeding shoulder. “You get caught, and you’ll drag me down with you!” His patron digs into his wound, uncaring of any permanent wound he might cause.

In the chaos of the night, amongst the screaming of the evil and innocent, against a tide of people who only want to escape, he catches his last glance at the person who’d convinced him to live a little longer.

His last glance…

Harumasa cannot breathe.

He was always going to die.

‘What kind of Champion gets so beat up all the time? Are we sure you’re really winning your fights, Chapmion?’

Four motorbikes speed through the sweltering desert, the dust kicks up in their wake.

“What’s the sitch, Lucy?” Caesar calls out over the roaring of their motors, her second in command is gruff in her response, “It’s Piper. Turns out Nicole’s friendly contacts weren’t so friendly after all. They’re tryna arrest the proxy!”

“Shit… Prepare yourselves everyone, this is gonna be the fight of our lives!” Caesar declares, her sword raised high.

“What? Like we’d loose on our own turf.” Lighter snorts, revving his engines. If the police wanted the proxies, they’d have to get through the sons of Calydon, and there was no way that’d be happening.

“Don’t let your guard down, Lighter, were not fighting some everyday pubsec officers, this is HSO Section Six were talking about.” Lucy warns to little effect. Caesar was pumped, nothing ever got Burnice down and Lighter—

“Should we be worried?” He drawls.

“Ugh! I get you don’t keep up with city news, but have to at least heard of section six?!”

“Yeah, yeah. Fox girl and friends who fight ethereals. We can take ‘em.” He reassures his boss’ second. He never got why people were so eager to celebrate, much less idolize their officers. Lighter had seen them on the news once and was immediately turned off.

They cut a clean line under the sun back to blaze wood. They’d been patrolling the area for suspicious activity when they’d gotten the call, they didn’t see anything too out of place, so they were caught off guard when they began to see piles of uniformed officers lined up by the road.

“What happen—” Caesars words were cut off by a gust of freezing wind that nearly threw them off their bikes. When the dust settled, they were faced with…

… a very blue child?

“N-Nagi? They’re getting closer!” She screamed, from further back, a call returned, “Codenames officer! I’m still hot-wiring this car, ask Recon!”

“Right!” The girl huffs, she looks left, then right, and not finding who she’s looking for, she yells into the air, “Masamasa! I need backup!”

There is no response. Did the call the right codename? Masamasa didn’t sound real. No wait! Why was a kid dressed in a HSO elite officer uniform in the first place?!

Lighter leans over to Caesar. “Do we… do we fight her?” He asks. The answer is apparently, yes. The girl readies her claymore, and the lot of them realize all too late, that it isn’t a short ranged claymore at all, but a foldable banner with a demon emblazoned onto its face, capable of hurtling blasts of cold wind at them. So that’s where that came from.

The four of them dodge on instinct, the gust sending them straight into the line of fire. All at once, arrows sparking with blue electricity rain down on them. The electrons bounce through the frigid air, making the space around them hum with static.

Lighter tries to move his bike and finds one of the arrows had cut through his tires, the arrowhead expanding just to graze open the rubber. Son of a bitch. His peers have similarly abandoned their vehicles, so they got caught too, huh. Nevermind, they weren’t going to fight on their bikes anyway.

He trades a glance with their leader, a wordless nod to confirm their tactics. They could not afford to underestimate the enemy, and it wouldn’t do to fight when Masamasa, ahem, ‘Recon’ was still hading somewhere in the eaves above.

Lighter dashes off to the side, uncaring of the sounds of violence behind him. He knew his teammates would come out on top. He just needed to make their job easier. Flank the enemy, take out their ranged fighter.

He makes it two steps when an arrow flies past his face. He digs his heel into the sand just enough to break his momentum. The shaft whizzes past his nose, the chirp of electricity roars in his ears—! And then his boot catches on something.

An electro grenade.

Sparks shoot through his body sending him to the ground.

“Whoopsie! I missed!” A voice calls out. Lighter chokes from his place on the floor. He swears he’s heard that voice, that playful tone before.

“Stop messing around, Asaba! We need to catch up with the chief!” Lighter chokes again. Asaba? As in doctor Asaba? As in the son who took on his fathers name, Asaba? As in Asaba ‘Masamasa’???

As in Asaba Harumasa??????

Lighter looks up. Recon has hopped down from their perch to threaten them up close. Apparently just one of them was enough, the girl had already bounded over to regroup with their last member in the back.

“Alright, everyone weapons down! You’re all under arrest for obstruction of— Lighter Lorenz, is that you?” He hears that voice call his name again. There’s no denying it. It’s him, his reason living through those dark years. He’s dressed up in a collared shirt and slacks, and on his head… that yellow headband.

“Haru—” An arrow grazes his raised hands.

“I said weapons down. Hands on the floor, Lorenz. You’re a boxer.” Harumasa keeps his bow steady, his eyes flicking over to each one of the bikers at intervals.

“Harumasa… h-how? No, what—?”He can’t find the right order of the questions he wants to ask. I’m so glad you’re alive. He should say, but theres a bow in his face. The feeling is familiar, and this bow is sharp and made of steel.

“Look, Lighter,” Harumasa sighs, thankfully cutting short his pitiful attempts at communication, “I’d love to catch up, but I’m on the clock right now. We can talk later, baby.”

Immediately, three sets of eyes turn to glare at him with varying forms of intensity. Lighter is just so caught up in the confusion of there not being any hostility that he doesn’t even notice. Not his teammate’s expression, not his own eye’s twitching, or the purring of a motor that was growing closer.

Harumasa was unfazed at the pink haired office lady that rides out on a stolen bike. “Really, Tsukishiro? All three of us on one bike?” Is all he has to say when the bike rounds the corner, barely dipping in speed as they swerve. The little one girl leaning out to drag him by the waist onto the ride.

It takes mere seconds for section six to pack up their archer for travel. Said archer being only mildly bemused by the rough handling.

The mischief never leaves his golden eyes, he’s taken into shenanigans, living life on its highest chord. He burns just the same, if not brighter than ever.

As they retreat further into the desert, he sees Harumasa clamber over the little girl, cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouts his last message into the wind:

“I like the shades by the way! Good on you for taking my advice!!!”

Lucy breaths in and out, turns to Lighter and punches him.