Phone Call
The chilly wind and unwelcoming darkness was the first thing he noticed when he woke up. It felt like ice was slowly eating away at his face and his entire body, he shifted uncomfortably. The movement made him realise the uncomfortable texture of the surface he was lying on.
Where was he?
He attempted to open his eyes, a strong wind blew in his face in an attempt to stop him. After a few seconds, maybe minutes, he was successful and was greeted with the sight of dirt, snow and blood. All right in front of his face.
His reaction came late, as if his brain was working a few minutes behind the rest of the world, when it caught up Hajime tried to move away from the unnatural sight. He moved his hands and braced them upon the ground in an attempt to lift himself up, the snow nipped at his fingers uncomfortably.
He lifted himself only a few centimeters off of the ground before plummeting back down again, the phantom pain and unnerving buzz under his skin that was barely noticeable before seemed to seek vengeance for his movements. Only now did he realise how his limbs ached, how his right hand felt on fire while the rest of his body was freezing. The way he hit his face sparked an explosive pain throughout his face, soon he felt something warm, a liquid perhaps, run down his upper lip, then his chin, then the ground.
Hajime brought his left hand to inspect the mysterious intrusion, swiping three of his fingers across his upper lip then bringing them up and letting his eyes take in what was on them.
Blood.
Oh.
That blood came from him? Alright.
Staring at his fingers. Processing. Letting his brain from a previous time catch up to his reality. Then a scream.
Or at least he attempted to scream. In the end it came out as a muffled yelp, followed by coughing. Each raw cough felt like thunder in his aching chest.
In his delirious panic he moved his legs in an attempt to run away from the danger, even though he was lying on the ground. His right leg kicked something unknown, too soft to be a rock, too solid to be just snow. His left leg saw red, lighting bolts fired away with each new movement until Hajime finally calmed down.
Sitting in a pool of his own blood that he couldn't see or make sure was there he waited. For death, for a savior or for the sweet blessing of the unconscious that would free him from the pain and would let him see another day.
None of those came to him, seconds, minutes, hours, all of them blended together until he was sitting in a timeless vortex of chill wind, softly falling snow and pain.
A snowflake fell on his nose, more pain came and he kicked his right leg unintentionally, a chain reaction of small twitches. He kicked the unknown object again, this time he acknowledged its existence.
Maybe lying on the ground wouldn't help, is what he thought. Maybe.
He avoided his right hand's screaming as he carefully braced himself on his elbows. The shuffle to the right that followed resembled a fish out of the water in slow motion, but he'd rather not think about that.
The unknown object that piqued his curiosity was identified after a minute of awkward and sluggish movement, maybe two or even three when you think about it .
It was a backpack, his backpack, his brain supplied after a moment of static. His backpack… What did he carry inside it?
Inhuman static, floating liquid memories. Think about it…
He carried his school supplies, he carried his lunch in there. He always put his phone in his backpack.
His phone? He could call someone, if no savior would come to him when he was lying down then maybe he could call one.
So that's what Hajime did.
He somehow managed to bring his backpack closer to him and uncover his phone stored deep inside it.
He unlocked it with his left hand after a few, a dozen, maybe more, attempts. His vision was starting to blur, his hands were shaking, the cold was catching up to him. He called the first number that he saw.
The person he called picked up immediately.
His brother's voice reached his ears and steeled his body, if only a little. His words were muddled, the words out of his own mouth were hot metal on his tongue. His memory began existing and seemed to stop, a cycle that continued every second he continued being awake.
"Where exactly are you?"
Hajime paused, unsure. He turned his head, a building. One with windows. One window in particular caught his wandering eye. He couldn't see, it was dark and his eyes didn't want to be awake, but he did his best. Said window had two holes in it, one big and one small. A memory rushed to the front of his mind to explain what he saw, it spoke in a language he couldn't understand, only images of a raging teacher, quiet students and an array of chemicals were things he couldn't understand.
Chemicals.
"Behind the Chem Lab"
He willed his mouth made of gum, willed it to speak. He did his best.
Other questions were asked. How many? He didn't know. What did they say? He couldn't tell.
"Who did this?"
He couldn't remember.
Hajime stared at the seconds building up on his phone, his brother had gone silent. He followed his example.
A drop of blood on his phone screen. Weird, he hadn't realized it was still bleeding.
Dull sounds in his ears. Weird, he thought he was alone.
A blurry shadow in his peripheral vision. Very weird inteed…
A beep came from his phone, the call had ended. The shadow creeped ever closer, or maybe it was running, or maybe it wasn't there at all.
Hot breath on his face, arms lifting him up from his snowy prison. When did he lay back down? He didn't know. He didn't care. It was hard to breathe.
He looked over at the person whose arms he was in. Oh, Izuru was here. Hajime looked at his brother's face, his mouth was moving, his breath was coming in quick little puffs.
He supposed it didn't matter anymore. Izuru was here, he knew what to do, he always did. He was too tired to care anymore, none of it was important anyway.
Not the dirt he was lying on, not the snow, not the blood on his phone, not his backpack, not the broken window. Not he himself.
His vision blurred, his body fell limp in his brother's arms, his eyes closed. He fell into the sweet abyss of the unconscious.