Ship: Midousuji/Onoda Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal Major Tags: tags omitted Other Tags: tags omitted Word Count: 428 words
Uh. Magical realism, I guess, or some world where you can live without a heart and where hearts actually HAVE feelings instead of emotion being chemically based. Warnings for gore and blood!
***
Onoda’s disappointed he didn’t win the second day stage, but he knows that Midousuji will be even more disappointed. The morale boost that would have come along with the jersey would have been useful for Kyoto who aren’t driven to maintain their status and prove their victory wasn’t a fluke or regain their old glory. What drives Kyoto Fushimi team is the will of their leader; it flogs them onwards, forcing them to keep up with Midousuji’s mad drive.
But Midousuji didn’t win. Neither did Onoda.
Everyone knows the importance of getting a good night’s sleep and being well-rested for the day ahead but surely it won’t matter too much if Onoda takes ten minutes to go check on Midousuji? His tent is so close to Midousuji’s and his tentmate, Naruko, is such a sound sleeper that he won’t even notice Onoda’s gone.
Quiet as a forest ninja, Onoda lets himself into Midousuji’s tent.
Midousuji’s got a knife to his chest, buried in the flesh but he’s not dead. He’s pushing it further in, carving into himself, with his head bowed and his focus completely on his self-surgery.
“What are you doing?!” Onoda asks, hurrying forwards. The plastic trashbag that Midousuji is sitting on has caught the worst of the blood and there’s enough there for Onoda to be faintly nauseous. “Akira--”
“I’m cutting out everything I don’t need,” Midousuji says, looking up for a second at Onoda as his hand stills. His pupils are blown wide with pain, a pure inky black that’s eaten up Midousuji’s irises, and his smile is strained (is strange, is deranged). “My heart hurts and pain is a distraction, Sakamichi. I’m taking it out.”
“But - you need your heart to pump blood through you! To keep oxygen flowing to your blood, to your muscles!” Onoda says, kneeling besides Midousuji. Gently, carefully, he wraps his small hand over Midousuji’s and tries to coax the knife out of the wound. “And besides, your mother--”
“My memories of her are in my mind. I don’t need my heart for her,” Midousuji says ruthlessly.
“Your memories of her won’t have any meaning without your heart,” Onoda counters, his eyes wide and indignant. “You need to keep it. You need to --”
He falters and his voice grows softer, more shy, “-- to love me back.”
His cheeks are pink, so hot that he feels like he’s running a fever, but he won’t let Midousuji do this to himself. He won’t!
He’d give Midousuji his own heart rather than let Midousuji become the heartless monster everyone says he is!
FILL: Team The Prince of Tennis, T
Fandom: Yowamushi Pedal
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Word Count: 428 words
Uh. Magical realism, I guess, or some world where you can live without a heart and where hearts actually HAVE feelings instead of emotion being chemically based. Warnings for gore and blood!
***
Onoda’s disappointed he didn’t win the second day stage, but he knows that Midousuji will be even more disappointed. The morale boost that would have come along with the jersey would have been useful for Kyoto who aren’t driven to maintain their status and prove their victory wasn’t a fluke or regain their old glory. What drives Kyoto Fushimi team is the will of their leader; it flogs them onwards, forcing them to keep up with Midousuji’s mad drive.
But Midousuji didn’t win. Neither did Onoda.
Everyone knows the importance of getting a good night’s sleep and being well-rested for the day ahead but surely it won’t matter too much if Onoda takes ten minutes to go check on Midousuji? His tent is so close to Midousuji’s and his tentmate, Naruko, is such a sound sleeper that he won’t even notice Onoda’s gone.
Quiet as a forest ninja, Onoda lets himself into Midousuji’s tent.
Midousuji’s got a knife to his chest, buried in the flesh but he’s not dead. He’s pushing it further in, carving into himself, with his head bowed and his focus completely on his self-surgery.
“What are you doing?!” Onoda asks, hurrying forwards. The plastic trashbag that Midousuji is sitting on has caught the worst of the blood and there’s enough there for Onoda to be faintly nauseous. “Akira--”
“I’m cutting out everything I don’t need,” Midousuji says, looking up for a second at Onoda as his hand stills. His pupils are blown wide with pain, a pure inky black that’s eaten up Midousuji’s irises, and his smile is strained (is strange, is deranged). “My heart hurts and pain is a distraction, Sakamichi. I’m taking it out.”
“But - you need your heart to pump blood through you! To keep oxygen flowing to your blood, to your muscles!” Onoda says, kneeling besides Midousuji. Gently, carefully, he wraps his small hand over Midousuji’s and tries to coax the knife out of the wound. “And besides, your mother--”
“My memories of her are in my mind. I don’t need my heart for her,” Midousuji says ruthlessly.
“Your memories of her won’t have any meaning without your heart,” Onoda counters, his eyes wide and indignant. “You need to keep it. You need to --”
He falters and his voice grows softer, more shy, “-- to love me back.”
His cheeks are pink, so hot that he feels like he’s running a fever, but he won’t let Midousuji do this to himself. He won’t!
He’d give Midousuji his own heart rather than let Midousuji become the heartless monster everyone says he is!