The Accompanist

Chapter 27: Because I Love You

When Miss Tsukasa finally announced her arrival, Boutarou squeezed the remaining tears in his eyes out and wiped at them furiously with the back of his hand. Pins and needles ravaged his arm from being squished behind her back, but he didn't care. She was barely breathing, and he was a wreck of anxiety.

"We're in here," he half whimpered, half yelled, his voice cracking out from his dry throat.

The woman opened the door, her gaze furrowing. "Young people these days."

"Please, you have to save her." He wouldn't bother refuting their position or hiding the tears that streamed down his face. All he cared about was that she started breathing normally again.

Tsukasa knelt over the side of the bathtub and assessed Sayaka's condition. "Look away if you don't want to see her bare body, boy. I would ask you to move, but if you do that, you might endanger her further."

He obediently lifted his eyes, biting his bottom lip to stop it from trembling as Tsukasa peeled off the various fabrics that covered her.

"Hm. I'll hook her up to oxygen and see if that does anything... If not, I'm going to have to shove a tube down her throat. Without sedatives. But from the looks of it, she's barely conscious anyways."

"I-Is she gonna be ok?"

"Be quiet and let me work," she muttered, pulling out a clear mask from the depths of her medical bag.

Boutarou closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In this situation, letting his mind race with thoughts would only strengthen the violent tornado of panic surging through him.

A few minutes later, the gentle hum of a machine filled the silence in the cramped room.

"So you found her crumpled into a ball?"

"Mm."

He answered her questions, desperately searching the ceiling for a distraction to relax the tightness that clawed its way into his pinched throat.

When Tsukasa seemed contented, she covered Sayaka back up with a single towel and sighed. "I'm not sure whether it was a collapsed lung, or whether she was just in severe pain from the heat of the shower increasing the swelling throughout her body... Yell for me if she stops breathing. I'm going to go prep the other room for an operation in case it comes to that."

He slowly nodded. The bathroom door slid closed, and Boutarou hesitantly lowered his eyes to Sayaka's pale face.

Through blurred vision, he saw that a wet strand of her long jet black hair was stuck fast to her cheek under the elastic strap of the mask. He reached up and gently lifted it out, touch as delicate and soft as Debussy's Reverie, water droplet squeezing off the bottom and prickling through his shirt.

"Please..." His eyes shut as he swallowed back the urge to choke himself, leaning his head against hers, hand curling into a fist as he held tightly to that single strand of hair. "I'll never fight with you again for as long as I live... I'll accompany you for every concert, every competition, anything you want with no complaints... I don't care about movies or video games or any of that stuff, just please..."

Don't die.

His blurry gaze reluctantly left her profile only to fall to her limp hand. He curled his fingers around her callused ones, realizing just how shaky they were as his frantic pulse swelled with the added tension. And they only shook more when all he felt in return was her ice-cold skin.

She couldn't die. If she died, he... He didn't know what he would do. He didn't know if he could keep living.

Until now, Boutarou didn't really understand the weight of the word, 'childhood friend.' Unlike normal family members or friends, Sayaka shared all aspects of his life since he was a baby.