Title: Somewhere In The Middle

Author: Darkestforever

Couple: Junjou Terrorist/ Junjou Egoist

Disclaimer: All characters featured in this story are the creative property of the managaka who loving drew the Junjou universe. I would like to thank the amazing Musicians of the world who created the inspirational music that spurred me on to write these emotional chapters.

Author's Note:

Part Seven: My December (Linkin Park)

It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.'

I do not agree; the wounds remain.

In time, the time, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue,

And the pain lessens.

But it is never gone.

~ Rose Kennedy ~

Time can heal all wounds eventually.

But not all hearts mend.

Some hurts run too deep.

Alone, left behind in their own grief, some are slowly poisoned by their septic scars. Life becomes a desolate place; colour seeps away, leaving a jejune imprint in the their mind. The face of the world becomes a sinister synthetic realm devoid of joy, hope and love.

No season becomes bleaker than Christmas.

The once secret seasonal magic that enlightened and bewitched their hearts loses its charm. They come to see a strange power bewildering weak-minded souls. Invisible spells capture unsuspecting folk as they meandered intoxicated by the teasing trimmings and trappings of the holiday spirit. This was the drab world Kusama Nowaki now saw since his release from the hospital.

Watching the snow flurry down outside the window, Nowaki could hear the distance sounds of merriment from the street below. He could not see the enchanted world bathed in the twinkling, superficial holiday lights. He was blind to the vibrant colours and joyous sounds that transformed the coldness of winter. Crowds of jolly people jostled with the frosty cold, clutching closely conspicuous bags full of wrapped presents. Mirthful smiles donned the faces of men, women and children. Chirpy cheesy carols thronged the air. Delicious, beguiling foreign fragrances of cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg drifted on the air.

Once he had been the man who cherished this season.

He revelled in stealing frosty winter kisses.

Dancing under the silvery showers of snowflakes.

Searching for that eye-catching cavalier Christmas fir that reached the ceiling.

Decorating the home with ostentatious tinsel, psychedelic fairy lights and bright baubles.

A bitter jealousy roused in the pit of his stomach as he observed the blissful bodies below.

Yet, now all those joyous memories were bitterly painful.

Jubilant laughter rose from a group of friends carrying hot, sweet pastries.

His dark indigo eyes were drawn to the party. While the male buffoons danced about like oafs throwing snowballs and the girls laughed at their childish antics, a tall chestnut haired youth only had eyes for the blushing black haired man at his side. Resting his hand under his chin, Nowaki watched the group leisurely loiter down the side street that was his temporary home. Shy gloved fingers twisted and entwined as they wandered in the privacy of the lane.

The perfect moment of sweetness painful pinched at his heart.

"Yukina!"

The chestnut haired man paused in the fluttering snowflakes, he shone a princely smile at his shy partner before turning. "Yes, Arakawa-chan?"

"Are you and Kisa-san coming to the party this evening?"

Dark amber eyes settled on then taunt, frozen figure beside him.

"I don't think so." He smiled kindly to his friends.

"Aww!" A blond girl in a pink bobbled hat declared. "I was hoping you would come Kisa-kun!"

"Another time, Karou-chan." The dazzling prince answered.

"Okay, Yukina. Remember don't be a stranger Kisa-san!" Arakawa-chan beamed. "Come on team! We have a hall to decorate for tonight!"

Groans thronged the air.

As the couple left, Nowaki watched the group of friends partner off into teams for their assigned duties for evening's event. He observed two odd males who watched the disappearing couple as the snow blurred them from sight. Distantly, he could hear their conversation.

"What do you think about that?"

"Certainly a shock." The smaller man answer, puffing icy breathes into the air. "Yukina was like the most manly of us all; yet since graduation, he's being living with a boyfriend all along. That's a long time dude!"

"Guess, he didn't think he could trust us to be cool with it."

"What are you two morons gossiping about?" The blond girl with the pink hat pounced upon the two stragglers.

"Nothing, Karou-chan!"

"You being mean about Yukina, Narise-kun?"

"No! I'm just surprised that is all." The smaller youth snorted into the cold air. "I expected Yukina to introduce us to a really cute girl today."

"Yeah, it was a bit of surprise to find out he batted for the other team."

"So what's the issue?" The girl huffed.

"There isn't one." The boy sighed in defeat. "Just surprised he didn't feel he could trust us."

A slow slip of a smile graced the blond girl's face. "You shouldn't think like that… he trusted us enough to share their secret eventually. It's tough being different- my parents haven't spoken to my sister in three years since she brought her girlfriend home."

"Eh!" Both boys declared at the astonishing declaration.

"Karou-chan… your sister… is…"

"Is that a problem?" The girl growled grabbing the flapping boy's scarf dragging him to her eye-level.

"NO!"

"Good! Only prejudice losers would have a problem with love." The girl announced with a tense smile. "Yukina is happy, that is all that matters."

"You're right. There is nothing more important than being happy," the taller boy said wrapping an arm around the girl. "Come on, I suspect you have decorations for me to hang right?"

Laughing, the girl leant into warm, supportive presence next her. "You bet, Rei."

The world seemed to be changing again.

Salty tears threatened to spill from his cobalt eyes.

An angry fist hit the window frame.

A frustrated growl slipped from his lips.

Life was not fair.

A distant shrill alarm chimed from across the room. Stepping back from the window, Nowaki strolled to the coughing phone. Rows of prescription bottles lined up like soldiers to greet him. Medicines to oppressed the madness that stewed within his memories. He was a phlegmatic phantom under the influence of these drugs. Kusama Nowaki ceased to exist; he was lulled into a dreamless world of numbness after taking these powerful tablets.

Beyond of the window, he could still hear the lively laughter of the group. Each sparkling sound of that laughter was rich and flourishing with life. Thumbing through the rows of medicine, he struggled to remember when his laugh had contained the same lively energy. He couldn't even remember the last time he decorated for Christmas. He had made a half-heart attempt one year in vain. Unscrewing the lid of his medicine bottle, he shuck out two cylinder capsules into the palm of his hand.

He eyed them with a sense of repulsion.

They were pointless, but necessary.

He wished he could have the strength to flush them.

To be himself again.

But he never would be.

Not without his Hiro-san.

Kusama Nowaki had died in the moment his beloved Hiro-san gasped his last breath.

Picking up his empty water glass, he entered the softly lit living room. In the corner by the balcony door, a medium sized tree stood glittering as its fairy lights shimmered and flickered. Gold, green and red baubles gleamed as their reflective metallic surfaces radiated the light across the dark room. The young lawyer certainly had a flare for design. He had toiled for hours garnishing the tree with the right colour scheme and illumination effects. Neatly wrapped presents were stacked beneath the lower branches of the sacrificial fir.

A grimace tugged at his lips.

He should have purchased something for his hosts to demonstrate his appreciation their Miyagi had become involved in his care was still lost in the blurry recesses of his memory.

Confusion had greeted his return to the conscious world concerning his adversary Miyagi Yoh. Laggardly his body responded to the hospital's indolent treatments. The day they orchestrated reviving him from his healing coma, he had been confused to find the dark-haired literature professor perching over his hospital bed. This man, who he had vigorously resented for years, stood watch over him in the uncertain days of his recovery. Argued with him. Furiously spurred him onwards. Dragged kicking and screaming if necessary. Always pushing. His first hesitant steps at physiotherapy were the reward of the desire to punch the smug bastard for his taunts.

In the six months of his hospitalisation, he had possessed the time to study his former rival. The older man appeared frequently in the company of a youth, who had been just a boy the last time they crossed paths at the funeral. Miyagi's brother-in-law was the sandy haired youth with a punk attitude and emergency bags of encouragement. He was a qualified lawyer, residing with college professor guardian after dispute with his family.

He did not understand why this man had resumed responsibility for him. He has sat in his hospital bed bemused as the young lawyer, Miyagi Shinobu, explained the options for the immediate future care for him. The doctor had pressed upon him her concerns of a length hospital stay.

"Kusama-sensei," she softly said, looking at him through sparkly glasses. "Please think about this offer carefully. I think you need friends right now; people who will support you. You tried it you way; and we almost lost you. Please let others help you."

Shinobu had explained the forms.

Simply, he was allowing Miyagi to be his guardian until he was of sound mind again.

That made him laugh.

No force on earth would ever make him right again.

His head ached.

His eyes settled on the gifts again.

It was too late now; it was Christmas Eve.

Turning on the kitchen tap, he filled the glass. Slipping the mephitic, metallic tablets past his lips, he scowled as unappetizing flavour settled on his tongue. The cool water drenched out the worst of the taste, but the powdery residue stuck to his palate causing him to gag. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to swallow again. With another gulp of water, he returned to his borrowed room.

The room was a decent size with a large double bed, drawers for storage, a walk in closest and several bookcases bursting with various tomes on law, literature and cooking. Greasy stains on the wall displayed a tell tale sign that there had once been more tacked to the wall than the present pieces of artwork.

Pictures of the young lawyer's girlfriend perhaps, Nowaki mused to himself.

Shinobu had kindly given up his personal space for him when he was discharged a week ago. The young lawyer was presently sleeping in Miyagi's den. Frowning, he reflected on his host's relationship. Something was delusively deviant about their brother-in-law status. Moments of secretive whispers, lingering touches and possessive glances. He had learnt at the hospital, Shinobu was Miyagi's relative under his guardianship after a family dispute. He accepted this without question, too caught in his own little world to noticed the tell tale signs of the true nature of the lawyer and professor's relationship.

Draped and dotted around the room also were his few measly belongings.

Cowardly, he had refused to return to his own apartment after his discharge from the hospital. His hosts had exchange worried glances. The older professor had merely nodded and mumbled under his breath. Shinobu had been charged with escorting him to a reasonably priced store to purchase necessary clothing and personal items. Miyagi had dropped them off early to a general clothes retailer; sitting in the car the dark eyed professor had waited for them. Five t-shirts, two hoodies, two sets of pyjamas, three pair of jeans, seven pair of boxers and a few odd pairs of socks later, Nowaki found himself unpacking in his strange new home. Shinobu had of course found him a few extra pieces from Miyagi's wardrobe. Only an inch or two taller than the six-foot professor, the shirts and sweaters had fit him nearly-perfectly.

At times, he longed to return to his own home. There were items he wanted to collect for his own comfort. Something inside him, shrunk back in panic at the thought of visiting that apartment. He was afraid of the ghost that guarded the adytum of the living mausoleum that was his home. The stacks of books that stood untouched, waiting for their master to return to read them. Hand-written notes that waited to be typed for a paper his lover had intended to present. Neat piles of folded and pressed shirts that would never be worn again. An empty laundry basket that stood valiantly waiting for a day's worth of clothes that would never return home.

A cold shiver pricked his skin.

He could not think about their home without that reaction.

How had he endured all those years in that crypt?

Leaning back against the closed door, he took a deep shaky breath. He needed to think of other things. The glass dully thudded against the surface of the chest of drawers. The room felt cold. A shadow moved in the glass. Nowaki saw a flicker of a reflection in the window. Jerking back, he found himself breathing heavily. It was a figment of his imagination. Summoning the calming techniques the therapist had taught him, he attempted to calm himself.

Six years on, those eyes still haunted him.

Those empty, expressionless eyes of his dead lover.

"No!"

Spinning away from the window, Nowaki felt the boiling, bilious anger convulsed in his mind. Virulently, he shook his head from side to side trying to unhinge the toxic thoughts seeping into his consciousness.

He did not want to remember.

A hot stream of anguish poured through his body.

Tears blurred his sight.

Holding his head in his hands, Nowaki struggled to remain grounded.

Closing his eyes, he returned to moments spent with his lover. Curled up on their sofa watching television. Hiro-san's adorable, angry face. The spitfire tsundere cursing his name, blaming him for the expensive bills, being late in the morning and the accusation of perverted thoughts. The shorter brunette struggling to reach the top dusty shelf in the second-hand bookstore, even on his tiptoes. Sly stolen glances from the cinnamon-eyed professor, even when he thought Nowaki wasn't looking. Enjoying his Hiro-san's tasteless meals late at night, before crawling into bed beside his sleeping lover. The warm embraces of Sunday mornings. Listening to the beautiful sound of Hiro-san's living heart beat. Feeling the bite of his lover's nails as he cried out in pleasure. Goose pimples spread across his skin as he relived the sensation of being cocooned in the heat of Hiro-san's love.

Six years had not eroded the power of these memories.

This world made no sense without Hiro-san.

Home comforts of his life had vanished.

The glow of Hiro-san's scent had faded from his bed sheets.

Each day he woke without the familiar warmth spooned around him.

Empty cold numbness greeted him when opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by strangers eyes him in a distasteful derision.

Mewls of his sobs echoed in the still of the quiet apartment.

His chest heaved, constricted by the sobs that caused his whole body to spasm.

Tightness grew in his chest as he struggled to breath.

A door thudded.

"Nowaki?" A kind, concerned voice tinged with alarm shouted out. "Nowaki, where are you?"

Hurried footsteps thumped against the wooden flooring.

The door hinges squeaked.

A soft voice caressed his consciousness

A gush of air moved past him.

In the airy, light dizziness that ascended over him, he could feel his heart pounding.

His limbs grew heavier with a burning tingling sensation.

A distant hiss bubbled on the air.

Cool plastic caressed his face.

The air suddenly smelt different.

He forced his eyes open to a blurry world.

He struggled for a moment in fear.

Two small warm hands grasped his shoulders. "Try to breathe with me. Ready. One. Two. Three."

Together, they breathe in time, a slow deep steady rhythm.

Trembling, he inhaled a depth breath with his aching convulsing muscles.

"You're fine, Nowaki." The soothing voice whispered. "Deep breaths. Doctor said these you might get more of these attacks. That's right. Just keep breathing."

He nods as his body quivers with the strain and fatigue of the panic attack.

His still healing lungs sear in pain, as their cells oxidize once again.

A warm living hand brushed loose bangs from his face.

Seizing that hand, he kissed it softly.

He dared not look up into the face of his delusion that sat close by.

It would not be those dark cinnamon eyes of the man he loved.

All he would see would be the mask of death. The filthy, blood caked face that he had cradled to his chest on that rainy night as he howled in agony. The pale, vulnerable profile that lay against the cold metal of the mortuary table that he had been forced to identify. Or the still, flawless mask that lay in the casket on show for strangers. These were the last visages of the man he loved that haunted his memory.

"You're a dream," he murmured to his companion hampered by the oxygen mask. "A terrible dream."

"Come on, let's move you into the living room." The voice nervously jabbered on.

Slipping the mask off, he clambered to his feet awkwardly.

His smaller companion struggled to balance his additional weight.

They stumbled together into the living room.

His cumbersome, oxygen-deprived body treacherously gave up half away across the room.

"Watch out!" He cried.

They are falling.

Together they collide with the floor, in a twisted pile of limbs and torsos.

Hiro-san's angry words filled his head.

Cold, wet clothes clung to his skin.

"Let go, don't touch me!"

An image of the dark-haired professor kissing his Hiro-san flashed in his mind.

He has to act now!

He couldn't lose him.

Not again.

"Hiro-san." He mournfully gasped.

Entwining his fingers with his partners, he leant into capturing his lover's lips.

A startled gasp escaped his Hiro-san.

See. No kiss compares with ours, Hiro-san.

Slender, soft lips protested against his.

The touch felt alive, real… but tasted wrong…

He struggled with Hiro-san's failing arms.

Why was his lover fighting him?

"Nowaki!" Those lips yelled against his. "You're hurting me! Let go!"

No.

I can't let you go again.

I can't Hiro-san.

Sharp teeth bit his lip.

"NOWAKI, I AM NOT KAMIJOU!" A voice shrieked.

Periwinkle pale blue eyes snapped open.

Shaking his head, Nowaki stared up at the golden glow of the Christmas tree.

This wasn't the university library.

Outside the window, snow fell.

"Hiro-san, where…" The words died on his lips as he peered down.

Terrified stormy grey eyes glared up at him.

Pinned beneath him, trembling in trepidation was the young sandy-haired youth.

"Shinobu?" He questioned puzzled by the position of the younger man.

Distant noise clattered in the hallway.

A shadow lingered in the doorway.

"SHINOBU!"

A blur of black moved swiftly from the far side of the room.

Pain seared through his jaw.

Cold metal collided with his head.

Glass smashed.

The hefty weight of the Christmas tree crashed into his lap winding him.

The granite-eyed youth cries into the shirt of the older man who holds him preciously.

Dark cold eyes glared at him, rage burnt in those atramentous orbs.

Shinobu whispered something shakily to the older man.

Miyagi cursed something under his breath. His attention glued to the frightened young lawyer encircled in his arms. With a grunt of effort, the dark professor lifted the terrified youth up, spun on his heel and disappeared from sight.

The delusion ended.

Guilt hummed through Nowaki's veins.

This attack was worse than the day he psychically attacked Miyagi.

Nowaki leant back into the cold glass of the balcony window.

Tears burnt his eyes.

What have you done? His rational mind screamed to his consciousness.

How could he attack Shinobu like that?

Listening to the distance whispery voices, he shoved aside the fallen tree. Limbering up to his full height, he sought refuge in his borrowed room. Like a drunk, he stumbled along using the wall for support. He didn't bother to close the door. Exhausted, he collapsed on the bed.

Wishing the world away, he closed his eyes as he did every day, praying this would be the last time.

A gruff voice woke him.

"Come on, I said get up."

Uncurling his limps, he looked up into the angry face of the older literature professor.

"Get your shoes and coat."

"Why?" He asked still dopey from slumber.

"Because, I said so." Miyagi bit out impatiently, turning for the door. He paused by the rows of medicine. "Bring these too."

To Be Continued...

Final chapter of this side-story is coming. Bring your tissues.