💏just fuck me up tbh
⇀ 12. in grief
his ears are ringing. he’s laying flat on his stomach, trying to think passed the rhythmic throbbing in his head. his limbs feel weighed down with lead, && his vision is dappled with black && white spots. he’s peering through slanted pillars, && it takes a moment’s contemplation for him to rip his goggles off his face, tossing them aside. there’s a twinge in his arm as he moves; after a brief assessment, he can conclude the following: he has a concussion — severity unknown — his arms ache, but they aren’t broken. a quick twitch of each leg reveals his right is most certainly broken.
fuck.
shouta braces himself on his elbow. the ringing in his ears subsides enough that he can just hear the panicked voices of civilians beyond cracked concrete walls. brushing a strand of hair from his face, shouta notices the undeniable peak of hizashi’s blond hair.
he pulls himself across the debris-littered floor. he can’t recall exactly what transpired — he doesn’t care — he simply wants to get to hizashi now.
hizashi looks no better than shouta does; battered, bruised, bloody, && not breathing. “ Mic. ” shouta shakes hizashi’s prone body. ( no reaction. ) “ Hizashi. ” shouta repeats his name — a mantra, growing more intense with each word spoken — but, he gains nothing. eventually, he develops the sense to check for a heartbeat, but even that is fruitless.
“ HIZASHI! ”
shouta weakly pounds at hizashi’s chest in a hopeless attempt to strike life into his friend. a seemingly endless span of time spent pitifully trying to bring hizashi back. shouta can hear clearly now, && the silence is too much. he needs a voice. he needs hizashi’s voice.
he stays hovering over hizashi even when rescue arrives though, he doesn’t acknowledge it. he refuses to, gently removing hizashi’s cracked glasses for the sole purpose of pressing a trembling, tearful kiss to the corner of his eye.
KISSY KISSY | @presentvoice
