Title: To Fly With The Birds

Pairing: Egoist (Hiroki/Nowaki)

Summary: A true bird cannot take flight when weighed down with mere flesh and blood...

Rating: T

Inspiration: I felt a bit sick and anxious the other day, and this popped into my head while I was try to cool off in the shower. I'm very proud of it. I hope you guys like it, and if you have any questions, feel free to put it in a review. Thank you.

One.

He doesn't know when he starts, but somehow, he looks down to discover the small square of white paper in his hands has somehow morphed into a delicate crane, wings pushed out and tiny head held high.

He doesn't even remember making it, but he supposes that some instinct, deep inside his memory, automatically started creasing and folding the note the second it was carefully placed in his empty hands.

Hiroki hasn't made origami since he was much younger, playing with his mother during the warm days of spring. She was the one that taught him how, even at such a small age.

Together, they would match the edges of the colorful papers and create so many of the birds, eventually threading a string through the almost invisible hole in the center and hanging them on the cherry blossom trees outside their house.

Hiroki loved sitting at the window in his room and just staring at the beautiful foliage, watching the birds lazily sway back and forth with the breeze. He liked to pretend they really were trying to fly away.

Seven.

Huh. When did that happen? A small group of cranes sit in front of him, all equal in size and craftsmanship. Another lies in his palms, only about halfway completed. He exhales lightly through his nose and hesitantly completes the piece, folding back it's wings and setting it down near the others.

He doesn't know exactly why, but he's compelled to rip yet another piece of paper from the small pad in his lap and immediately create an additional bird. Hiroki decides to run with the feeling. His hands are itching to do something, and he's much to afraid to hold, God forbid touch, Nowaki's hand.

Thinking of the man, Hiroki's stomach flips, but not the way it does when Nowaki presses a gentle kiss to the brunette's lips, or suddenly grabs his hand, or even when he walks through the door.

Eighteen.

Hiroki feels a little ill, a bit jittery, and brings a shaky hand to his forehead. He feels hot, but brushes it off and continues to fold.

Twenty six.

More and more cranes litter the space in front of him. Frustrated, he growls and pushes them all to the floor, watching with mild interest as they silently connect with the hard ground. He doesn't want to, but he grabs another clean sheet of paper.

Forty five.

Hiroki throws the last bird down to sit with the rest, and hurls the empty pad of paper across the room, relishing the sound it makes as it collides with the wall.

He sits in the plastic chair quietly, even clasps his hand together in his lap. But still, he feels the need to do something, as powerless as he is. He cautiously opens the drawer located to the left and is almost excited to discover three unused, crisp pads of paper. Wordlessly, he slides one of them out from it's confines.

Ninety two.

The pile in the floor is growing, getting just a tad bigger as he completes yet another bird and tosses it towards the flock. The pad is nearly halfway empty.

One hundred and twenty seven.

He's already run out of the first and has had to move onto the second pad of paper, fingers eagerly pulling a sheet from the thin cardboard keeping the hundred pieces bound together.

One hundred and eighty six.

Vaguely, a memory in the back of his mind surfaces, bringing forth things he was convinced he would never have to think about again. Angrily, he swipes at his eyes as he recalls his younger self crying by the window of his old room, praying and wishing to fly away with the cranes hanging from the trees.

Three hundred and sixty eight.

The empty pads of paper speak for themselves as they sit on the other side of the room, the orange light of the sunset bathing them in a deep, almost heavenly glow. Hiroki is nearly glad to discover the empty room next to theirs holds four pads of paper, unused.

Five hundred and seventy five.

The stark room is decorated with the mass huddle of cranes thrown into a pile in one of it's corners. Or rather two; the flock has grown big enough to take up a large area, reaching deep into the recesses of every nook and cranny. Some are a bit crinkled, but nonetheless perfect. Hiroki refuses to let lack of space stop him.

Six hundred and nine.

The sharp wing of another finished bird grazes Hiroki's ring finger with the gentleness of a lover, but leaves a sting. A thin red line appears in his clear skin, only a minuscule amount of blood creeping out from the cut. Hiroki pays no heed.

Seven hundred and sixty six.

Someone else joins him in the room, but he does not acknowledge them. He's too close now.

He feels a soft, feminine hand touch his shoulder, but jerks away, receiving another paper cut for his sudden movement. Both ring fingers now sport matching cuts. A muffled voice tells him something, but he growls and nearly crushes the unfinished bird in his fist, throwing the most dangerous glare he can summon in their direction.

He swears a sympathetic look crosses the person's face, but they leave peacefully, shutting the door behind them.

A few minutes later, they return with two pads of identical, unused paper.

Nine hundred and forty two.

Hiroki is so exhausted, his body screaming for rest, but he's too damn close to give in now. He has no idea how much time has passed, but he's seen the moon once already and is pretty sure it's sunset again.

Nine hundred and sixty one.

His fingers are riddled with paper cuts, each stinging with such intensity it makes Hiroki clench his teeth to keep from crying out.

The flock of once pure white cranes is now muddled with splotchy, red ones. Fingerprint shaped ovals adorn a good number of the birds, the color ranging from a dried pink to a deep crimson.

He's almost out of paper.

Nine hundred and seventy four.

He's using anything he can find now, ripping loose papers into squares and shakily folding them into cranes. His hands are on fire, but it doesn't matter. He's never reached this high a number before.

He places the bird in front of him, staring down at the small creation. One of the wings dips as a single tear hits it from above.

Sniffling, Hiroki remembers being a similar predicament many years ago.

Nine hundred and eighty eight.

He hadn't been fast enough for his mother. He never had time to wish. But this time, he knew it was going to work. It had to.

Nine hundred and ninety four.

If you fold one thousand cranes, his mother had told him, you will be given a single wish in return. That's all he needed. One wish.

Nine hundred and ninety five.

He supposes the phrase "this is so stupid" should have crossed his mind earlier, but it was the only hope he had left. It had to be more than just a silly folktale, right?

Nine hundred and ninety six.

Hiroki doesn't exist anymore. He's been replaced by a machine, dedicated to bypassing human needs and folding crane after crane to help bring back the only thing he's ever truly wanted in his life.

Nine hundred and ninety seven.

Nowaki.

Nine hundred and ninety eight.

Hands shaking, he places the bloodied bird next to it's brothers, stiff and sore and completely drained of everything.

Nine hundred and ninety nine.

He finishes the bird with a whimper, tears finally cascading down his face as he drops it into the pile.

He uses Nowaki's medical chart as the final piece of paper.

One thousand.

Hiroki doesn't like religion. Never really believed in anything, or anyone, for that matter. But in that moment, that one shining moment when he finishes the one thousandth crane, he drops to his knees and prays and wishes with all his might. For life. For Nowaki's life. He just wants to see those sparkling blue eyes so full of vibrance and feel the comforting warmth of his hands again, he would give everything, everything please anybody just everybody, please give his Nowaki back.

He waits for an answer, lying beside the still body of his lover and feeling the distant warmth that never seems to disappear.

He takes the final crane and pushes it into Nowaki's hand, pressing them together with his own, repeating his wish over and over in his ear, forgetting the blood and tears staining his very soul.

His body is so beyond used and exhausted, it eventually is close to shutting off. He allows his eyes to close, if only for a minute, hoping with all his soul he is met with Nowaki's cerulean gaze when he opens them.

Sleep claims his tired body.

He never finds out exactly when Nowaki wakes up. All he knows is that when he rises, he is met with the gaze he loves and holds so dear. Nowaki looks brilliant, practically glowing with health, the sickness that plagued his body for months seeming to have disappeared.

Hiroki is different as well. All traces of exhaustion have left his body, and he suddenly feels better than he's ever felt before. A relieved smile crosses his face as he stands to finally embrace his lover. His warm arms encircle his body as he gets as close to the man as he possibly can.

For a second, just before burying his tearful eyes in the crook of Nowaki's neck, he catches a glimpse of the pink cherry blossom trees surrounding them, small, white cranes hanging from their branches and swaying with the gentle breeze.

And suddenly, he realizes, his first wish came true as well.