[ the pained sound that escapes ugetsu is involuntary. he'd bury that too, if he could. also involuntary: how blind eyes water. he tastes salt before he registers the feeling of the warmth of their tracks down his face. it says more about his state than anything that he doesn't bite yuki, that all he can do is stutter broken breaths as he tries to recover from the electric shock of hurt from something so tame it would make ugetsu laugh again if he could.

he hears it: the sea reminding him he's real by speaking, by moving, by opening its all devouring self and saying the moon can't make him leave but even if it did, it is also the moon that pulls him back. isn't it.

isn't it.

ugetsu's next inhale and exhale almost sound wet. there's so much wrong, so to say something isn't 'right' is understatement and redundant as well. does it taste good? does it taste bad?

did he hit you?

tabloid rumors have been running yuki yoshida and ugetsu murata scandals with growing traction. ugetsu had not deigned to tell yuki or his manager the threats he'd received. some veiled in politics unafraid of the recourse. some in fanmail he watched burn without any satisfaction. and some just a gut instinct: the sense he'd been being followed for a week or so, unable to parse his waking hours from his maddened stupors of practice and the stolen pills from yuki's pockets in jackets left behind. how lucky, he thinks, that none of it was in his system when the accident happened. but whether they meant to enrobe him in a drug scandal or kill him outright, he has no idea.

later, they'll tell him the name of the other driver and ugetsu will have an answer for yuki: well yes. but ugetsu had always hit him back. a fling. he doesn't even remember when except that he was still of again on again with aki back during or around that time. sort of.

for now, thin shoulders shrug. even that hurts. under the hospital shift and the myriad of bandages, ugetsu's moonpale skin is blue, black, red, yellowing and almost green. as if a cosmic joke, his face is almost alright if one overlooks the head wound and the thick swathe of gauze around the right side of his neck. they're not sure what will or won't scar.

ugetsu isn't sure he cares either way.

he licks his lips, swallows salt and blood and the smile isn't there anymore. ]

They say death makes you honest.

[ ugetsu's voice is still, like the reflection of the moon in water that cannot move. ]

I guess that was close enough.

[ when he blinks, it's very slow. it gives the impression he might not open his eyes again if he lets them shut one more time. ]

You know --

[ he looks straight at yuki without seeing a thing, but this might be the strangest ugetsu has ever looked to anyone, not because of the injuries but because he feels almost...not real. ]

-- he'd take you back, I think.

[ no guesses as to who 'he' is. ]

When he sings, that's what it sounds like to me.

[ and if ugetsu is bad at every other thing in his life, well, sound is the one thing he's always, always gotten right.

whether it's kind. whether it's devastating. whether it's the sea or a shooting star.

the moon pretends he doesn't understand sometimes, but the trouble is...he does.

he really does. ]