For Hikari

Summary: He's stopped hoping for something to change … to be better … because he knows there's no hope left.

Eyes are clenched shut as he stumbles back to the bed, the thin curtain swishing against the window pane and blocking the dying afternoon from getting into the room, for he's become irritated when out and about in the sun. He doesn't want to see the cherry blossoms flutter down to the ground as the wind gently shakes at the sakura trees. He's become accustomed to this dimly light room as he's usually unable to pull himself out of bed, coughing fits raging his body almost all the time now. His hand braces him against the bed as the other fists itself in the cotton shirt over his heart, violent coughs forcing his body to shudder uncontrollably. His palm presses against his lips in an effort to stifle the coughs, but they come anyway, one after another.

People have stopped asking why he's not medicated. Knowing now that his body has been resistant to the antibodies they inject in him and the medication he used to take. They're used to not seeing him outside going about; he's stopped going to work. He's stopped going out and exercising in the light of the sun. He's stopped hoping for something to change … to be better … because he knows there's no hope left.

It's too advanced.

His shaggy, red-brown hair sticks to the sides of his face from the light sheen of sweat from the fevers and the extra heat that the jacket he wears keeps in, the hood always pulled up around his face. Sharp green eyes, that appear dull to the glimmer they used to have, drift around the room. Even in his state he can hear the soft footsteps nearing his room. He swallows hard in an attempt to ignore the chills racing over his clammy skin as he reaches under the fold of the mattress, fingers gripping hard around the hilt of a sword.

Instincts seem to take over as he spins around, albeit a little wobbly, and points the tip of the blade straight at the person who had come in, the white scarf around his neck keeping his neck away from the point of the sword. "Stop!" the demand of his comes out squeaky, the coughing making his voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable after not talking much for so long.

Paper bags are gently dropped to the ground, a slight smile comes to the "intruder's" lips as he pushes the blade away with his hand, setting his own on the bedside table. "Calm down Okita, there's no need to get so worked up."

He takes a shuddering breath as he feels a bout of weakness wash over him. His words come out soft as arms wrap around him, supporting him. "You startled me … you idiot …" With frail arms he pushes at the broad chest he's clutched against, still not use to the excessive attention of this one person alone. "Put me down … Saito."

He does as he's asked, lifting Okita onto the edge of the bed and lying him down against the pillows. Saito smiles softly before turning his back to Okita, returning to the door where a small form is huddled in a ball. He bends down, coaxing the petite ball of fur to uncurl itself and attach to the front of Saito's long, ebony jacket. The tiniest of paws reach to play with the silver buttons on his jacket, the kitten completely comfortable as Saito walks back over to Okita, voice muffled from the protection of the scarf in front of his mouth. "I thought you'd like to see her today."

A smile instantly lifts at the weak muscles of his face, a tiny smile clearly seen despite the shallow breathing. Okita reaches out for the fluffy kitten with fur as white as freshly fallen snow and Saito happily lets the small creature curl up on Okita chest, its cold nose nuzzling and mewling into Okita's neck. But as much as he enjoys it, Okita waves at Saito, already feeling the rumbling in his chest start. He rolls over onto his side the second after the kitten is placed back on the floor, staring up at the bed in pure animal worry, knowing something is terribly wrong.

Saito slips the coat off to reveal a simple black, button-up shirt and an a pair of equally colored pants. He picks up the sword resting on the bed next to Okita, placing it next to his on the bedside table, next to the bottles of medicine he's supposed to be taking. Saito snags a handkerchief from one of the drawers and sits on the side of the bed as Okita lies back on his back, outstretching his palm to Saito who wipes the blood from his fingers. With his other hand Okita reaches up to tug at the longer violet hair that's tied with a long ribbon multiple times, the shorter strands of Saito's falling around his face. Okita tangles his fingers in the strands, tugging Saito down, confident and sarcastic even in his time of weakness. "Aren't you afraid I'll infect you?"

Saito gives a small shake of the head, purple eyes never leaving Okita as he lets his scarf pool onto the floor. "No, not at all." Saito being as intelligent as he is knows perfectly well that Okita isn't contagious, those medicines did that much at least. He leans forward and lightly presses their foreheads together, feeling the heat that seems to waft off of Okita in waves. He forces their lips to softly collide, Okita's lips moving against his dominantly before he pushes Saito away roughly and turns on his side, hacking with coughs as blood slips from his lips and into his hands once more.

The pain shooting through him can only be described as a knife being plunged into his body repeatedly and in a different place every time, making the pain that much worse. As the cough slowly recede until it's only a tickle in the back of his throat, Okita scouts over as he wipes his hands on the handkerchief once again. Saito hides the sorrow in his eyes as he lies down, letting Okita do as you normally would and lie half on top of Saito, head on his chest and hands balled into the fabric of his shirt. But as more coughs threaten to rage his body, Okita tries to push away only for Saito to hold him down.

"Shhh … it's okay."

Tears bead at the corners of Okita's eyes at the strength of the coughs, the pain causing him to gasp for breath as his hands fist at Saito's shirt. Okita clenches his eyes shut as the droplets roll down his cheeks, the coughs subsiding again as Saito holds Okita close, their chest rising and falling against one another. Saito keeps his eyes at the ceiling as he trails his fingers through Okita's hair, unable to get the images from his mind. How much Okita's lost weight, the sweatpants on him now barely able to hang on his hips. How weak he's gotten, needing help to usually get from place to place. How much he hates having the curtains open, for he hates being reminded that he can't go out.

"S... Saito, I... love you."

Saito pecks the crown of Okita's head, "I love you too."

But even as he says those words he can feel the tears fall from his eyes and onto the pillow beneath his head, feeling Okita's chest cease to rise and fall and his grip slacken on his shirt. Saito lies there struggling to breath and think, just holding Okita's lifeless body tight as the kitten on the floor mewls sadly and paces around the bed. He smiles bitter-sweetly into Okita's messy mop of hair, "Thank you … for waiting."

So I took it upon myself to modernize it to my liking, not advanced to our time … but you know … far enough along where they're attempting to treat diseases like these but where they still have swords and what not and … whatever.

I originally didn't want to end it that way, to have Saito grateful for Okita waiting for him to get back before ... But I'm kinda ... in that kind of mood and had to get this out and well it worked right? I finished. Now, whataya think?