blindmakoto: Makoto's eyes were bright red as he sat in a bed with white covers and a blank expression. He'd managed to get himself to stop crying for a bit as he'd been crying for ages, so he had a major headache. He was currently sat in a hospital bed, waiting for someone to see him. The hospital had called his parents, and he was just waiting for them now. When he was attacked, he was on the phone to Haru. He didn't know where his phone was, though. Whether he'd got it, or the attacker had.
Haru’s heart threatened to hammer its way out of his chest as he stared at his phone. The call had been disconnected suddenly, but not until he had heard the most horrific sound— crashes, scrapes, yelling. The sound of Makoto screaming in raw pain. It had sent a chill down his spine that anchored him to the ground. He was frozen, his eyes wide, almost shaking with fear. Calm down. Calm down.
But there was no way he could calm down. He began shouting into the phone, not even caring that the line was dead. Where was he? Calm down. Where was Makoto?
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The next several hours were a blur, searching high and low, calling friends, calling hospitals, calling 911.
When he finally did find Makoto, his friend was already at the hospital, and they wouldn’t allow anyone to visit. Why the hell wouldn’t they let him visit? When could he visit? What was wrong? How was he? What had happened? Questions poured forth, but they were all left unanswered. He was told sternly to go home and come back the next day.
Haru ignored them, spending a sleepless night in the waiting room, counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. Makoto was being moved to the recovery room in the morning, he learned. Someone had brought him in, claiming to have heard some sort of struggle down a side street in the evening and finding him unconscious. They wouldn’t give him more details about his condition, something that vexed him to no end.
"I’m his friend," he said irritably, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm as if he were trying to wipe away the exhaustion that pressed down onto him.
It wasn’t until morning that they told him.
The news hit him harder than any blow, knocking the air out of his chest and nearly making him stumble. Makoto? Blind? He closed his eyes, picturing those warm, caring green eyes, now gone forever. Blind. The attacker had slashed at his face, and the damage done to his eyes was irreparable.
They weren’t the most enthusiastic about letting him visit before even his family arrived, but he insisted.
He knocked lightly on the door frame, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Makoto? Is— is it alright if I come in?”
