What the hell are you doing to me? (ART)

Pale brown eyes snapped open when the morning sun stung them through the windshield.

The driver scrambled out of his parked car, remembering where he was and what he was doing. He took a deep breath as the cold winter air filled his lungs and his sight adjusted to the bright light of the new day.

The man wearing a suit crouched as he observed the opposing yakuza's building from a distance. He had been patrolling the area since the previous evening, watching and waiting for an opportunity to make his move.

Jiro had seen several police cars leave the residence earlier in the last night, but there was still a vehicle left from the original operation.

He fished for his phone and dialed his cousin's number with shaky fingers. When the groggy voice answered he briefly explained the situation and asked to create another distraction to divert the remaining policemen's attention.

"What's wrong with you?" Yoshio sighed.

"Just one more time, please. It means a lot."

"Ugh. I will look into it. But again, I can't make any promises."

The man ended the call, his face set into an agitated grimace as he considered his options and waited for something to happen. The large building stood hauntingly silent against the snow-covered landscape, each window reflecting the pale morning light.

Then, after a moment, Jiro saw the two last police officers rush out of the house and speed off in their car, leaving a dust cloud in their wake.

He sprinted across the frosty forest, pushing through the thick snow as he ran towards the now unprotected structure. Once he reached the entrance, he quickly turned around to look in all directions to ensure he was surely alone, before disappearing inside.

The man looked astonished to see how the police had swept the rival yakuza's property. He moved around quietly, trying to look for anything that could give him some information regarding his missing housemate, but he found nothing since most of the items had been taken away.

As he was about to abandon the task, he noticed a curtain hanging in the corner of the outdated and empty kitchen. He cautiously stepped closer to investigate, and as he parted the stained cloth, he saw a set of stairs leading downward.

Jiro carefully descended the creaky steps, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he passed through the darkness.

His throat was stuffed with musty air as he entered the damp, foul-smelling basement. The walls were lined with nothing but shelves and cabinets, suggesting that the space had been raided and emptied as well.

As he walked forward, he spotted a few pieces of broken glass and a couple of dark spots on the paneled flooring. He bent down and found what looked like dried blood staining the ground, but also a tiny tuft of coffee-brown hair that reminded him of a particular person.

An adrenaline rush swept through his body as he realized that his roommate had probably been there before. He frantically searched the scene, desperately looking for more clues that might lead him to his lost acquaintance, unintentionally even calling his name as he did so.

Jiro could only hear his own quick breathing in the cellar, but suddenly, he picked up a faint sound, almost like a knock, like it was coming from beneath him.

He shouted Natsuo's name again, stronger than before. The noise was more clearly noticeable now, so he rushed towards it, inspecting more closely the area - then he saw a narrow gap between the floorboards.

The panel opened after a few tugs and revealed a small space, barely big enough for a human to fit inside - and there was a slim figure curled up with his eyes closed.

"Natsuo!" Jiro gasped as he pulled him out.

"I'm here, it's okay," he said soothingly, trying to stir the other one from his daze, but he remained motionless.

He carefully brushed the hair away from Natsuo's forehead and examined the deep bruises scattered across his cheeks.

The blue eyes glanced briefly at the man holding him, his gaze seeming to pass through Jiro as if he wasn't even there. He was lying limp in his roommate's grasp, his weak wheeze the only sign of life.

(art)

The brunet rested in the hospital bed, finally breathing normally as medicine worked through his veins, helping him sleep and recover from his ordeal.

The doctors had diagnosed the patient with bacteremia, a potentially fatal condition caused by bacteria present in the bloodstream. Ultimately, it was Jiro's timely intervention that saved him from certain death.

Jiro looked at him blankly, emotions racing through his mind. He couldn't believe that he had actually found his housemate in such a state - battered and beaten, barely alive.

The man couldn't help but feel sympathy for the other one. He watched how his facial features contorted and his eyelids flickered, like he was having a nightmare.

Jiro remembered dreary high school days and how he hated that individual lying on the bed. He was determined to make his existence miserable, to hurt him in any way possible.

"You know... I tried to kill myself when I had enough. When you kept humiliating me with the others. But instead, I was sent to live with my uncle, and he... he did terrible things to me."

His voice was low, but choked with emotion, and his gaze focused on the person lying beneath the white sheets.

An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat and tears unexpectedly gathered in his eyes as he recalled his own painful past. His shoulders slumped as he thought of how much easier his life would have been if his former classmate had been less cruel.

Maybe, they could have become friends. Maybe, he wouldn't have swallowed those pills. Maybe, he wouldn't have had to live with his uncle. Maybe, he wouldn't have thought he needed to turn to yakuza to escape his abusive relative.

"Why couldn't you just be my friend from the beginning?" he whispered in a trembling tone.

The monitor alarmed as the patient's heart rate increased. Jiro turned his eyes to the screen, before positioning himself as close to the mattress and Natsuo as he could.

His anger was boiling inside him, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. A part of him told him that it was his duty to be there for Natsuo, to offer him comfort and help, even for a short time.

Jiro hesitated for a moment, feeling nervous about what he was about to do. The man slowly reached out for the patient and embraced him in a hug, feeling the thin body almost shudder in his arms.

Jiro had never thought he would be the one to show that kind of support to someone he had once so bitterly hated, but his eyes grew wide at how natural it felt. He could feel himself softening as his arms wrapped around Natsuo and the warmth emanating from him soothed his soul.

Suddenly, he felt anxious as he held the other person, a feeling that made him wonder whether he was crossing a line he would never be able to uncross.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" he mumbled as the patient's heart slowed down and his pulse began to race.