Title: Anatomically Incorrect
Characters / Pairing: Yamamoto, Gokudera / 8059 if you wanna squint
Word Count: +/- 1037
Rating: PG-13 (Swearing)

That idiot. That fucking idiot. What is it with him having to help everybody?

Gokudera stormed through the hospital, ignoring the calls from the nurses begging him to stop as he radiated a mood that seemed to be striking fear into anyone who was in his direct path, before they were forcibly removed from it. Eventually, the hospital staff gave up and attempted to ignore him as he threw open the door of one of the hospital rooms carelessly.

"What the HELL did you do this time, you fucking baseball idiot?" His glare was set firmly on the boy who was sitting up in the hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around his neck and various parts of his arms. He growled and slammed the door shut behind him before stomping his way over to the bed, grabbing it's occupant by the scruff of his hospital robe, growling again when he was given a wide smile before pushing him back into the pillows and collapsing onto the chair behind him, suddenly looking tired and out of breath. "You're such a fucking moron."

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his temples to fight away the impending headache, and looked up as an annoying clicking of fingers began to echo in the room. He stared at Yamamoto, blinked once, and then looked in the direction that he was frantically pointing in, finding his gaze landing on a mini whiteboard and a whiteboard marker. He looked back at the boy in the bed, who nodded, before picking it up and handing it over, unable to keep the curiosity from calming his aura of annoyance as he watched his friend - not that he'd ever verbalize that title - pull the lid from the marker and scribble something on the board before turning it around to reveal what he had written.

"Wh-What?" He yelled as his eyes scanned over the written words again and again, seemingly unbelieving what Yamamoto had written. "What the fuck do you mean you can't talk?" He stared, stunned, as the boy just laughed, turned the board around and used his hand to wipe it - mostly - clean before writing on it again and letting Gokudera read it.

There was this old lady being mugged by a pair of delinquents, so I went over to try and help, but they beat me up and one of them cut my throat, so I can't talk for a while until my vocal chords heal.

Gokudera blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Lifted his hands and rubbed his eyes and reread the message then looked at the swordsman in disbelief for a moment. When he finally found the words to speak, he gave a light 'hmph' before sharing them. "At least it'll be quieter now," He said, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest, failing in keeping the completely uncaring look dominant on his face as a small look of concern slipped into his eyes. "How long will you be in here?" He rolled his eyes in annoyance as Yamamoto began the routine of cleaning, writing and sharing again, deciding that this was going to get very annoying, very quickly.

"They're letting you go back to school in three days?" The bomber asked, keeping his tone as cool and even and normal as possible, though he couldn't help the disbelieving tone that crept in. The other nodded, turning his board around and wiping it clean, before pushing pen to paper- er, marker to board again, though Yamamoto seemed to be paying more attention to this one. Gokudera heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, the silence in the room only broken by the soft squeak of the marker being dragged across the slick surface of the board as Yamamoto continued to do whatever he was doing.

Finally able to get a chance to calm down, the bomber ran over what he had been through in the past three hours in his mind. He had got off school early, skipping last period because there was no point going to class when neither his Tenth nor the baseball idiot were there, as one was off somewhere training and the other had a tournament to go to. In fact, he didn't know why he went to school in the first place when he knew that neither of them were going to be there. He had been walking home when he had heard a ruckus of some sort, and some passer-by had told him that one of the kids from the local baseball tournament had been attacked and rushed to hospital. He didn't know how he knew it was his baseball player. He just did, so he had run as fast as he could, thinking of all the possible things that could've hap-

He was brought crashing down to earth by the clicking of fingers again, and he lifted his head from his hands to look at the boy in the bed, who was beaming and holding the whiteboard out for Gokudera to take. Raising an eyebrow, the bomber took the board and stared at it with wide eyes, then at Yamamoto, who was still beaming, and back at the board again.

"What the hell, baseball idiot?" He said in disbelief, staring at the drawing on the board of a stick figure - presumably him - throwing dynamite at what seemed to be their school. He reached out and grabbed the marker from the boys hand and pulled off the cap, writing across the top in large letters:

ANATOMICALLY INCORRECT.

Smirking at his own addition, he hand both the board and marker back to the swordsman, who just laughed and smiled at his friend, beckoning with a hand motion for him to come closer. Reluctantly, the silver-haired boy stood and stood beside the bed, opening his mouth to ask what the idiot wanted, but was unable to as his shirt was grabbed and he was pulled down into a forcefully hug. Unsure, and slightly shocked, he struggled a little for a moment before giving in and hugging his arms around the bigger boy, hiding a smile as he felt silent lips moving against his bare neck:

Thank you.