#nobodyproject

SLIDE 

BY OTI$KILLYASELF 

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Isshin was screaming.

Raw unconstrained screams that rip through Sparra’s body like a double-edged knife. They had fortunately found refuge in a partially dilapidated house in the part of Prefecture-05 that had been abandoned due to the sudden Rebel-Faction onslaught. Isshin and Sparra had been separated from the others, and while they had thought they were safe for the time being, a bomb caught them. They would have been fine – if it wasn’t for the aftershocks that hit them afterwards.

Sparra was trembling as he ripped the brunet’s bloodied shirt off. A large bloodied gash greeted him, spanning from his ribs to his hip bone. His eyes took in the trembling form in front of him; there was blood everywhere – so much blood. He was in so much pain.

“Isshin, Isshin, stay with me,” he pleaded, holding Isshin’s dirt-caked face in his shaking hands. His skin was hot to the touch and his eyes were growing more unfocused by the second. Sparra was losing him. He let out a choked sob and shook his head furtively – no, he wasn’t going to lose him, not like this… not like this.

Sparra hurriedly peeled off his shirt, ripping it to shreds to make makeshift bandages. He wrapped the cloth around various injuries, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding and the last strip over Isshin’s mouth to quiet the screams. The hunt for Mana-users was far from over, and the chances of them being found were inevitable.  He wasn’t going to surrender without a fight, but if he lost Isshin…

All of their struggles, all of their fighting up until now would be meaningless.

based on a prompt involving fluffy fluff and patching up injuries.

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“You are reckless.”

The comment was meant to chastise, but the power behind it was diminished due to the weariness of the person saying it. Isshin intently kneeled over Sparra’s wounded arm, carefully picking out shards of glass and gravel with a small set of tweezers. Wincing with every hard poke, the only retort Sparra could manage was a childish pout of his lips.

“It’s not like I have eyes in the back of my head,” he mumbled. Another wince, and this time he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from moving after Isshin shot him an aggravated glare. However Sparra noticed that the force behind his plucking eased considerably. Blue eyes then fell on his partner’s face, taking in the porcelain skin that was currently covered in soot and tiny scratches here and there. Dark brows were furrowed in concentration, as if this usually mundane task was the most important thing in the world to Isshin right now. Sparra felt a pang of appreciation and guilt; Isshin wasn’t that seriously wounded, but still, he had his own injuries he needed to take care of. He was always worrying over Sparra, even though he never directly admitted it. Always watching his every move when they were engaged in these skirmishes with the Oni; always covering his back while also covering his own self at the same time. It was the little things, Sparra noticed, that said so much about their…

Well whatever their relationship was. He couldn’t call them friends…. Definitely not. But – not exactly lovers either…

Whatever, labels were for losers anyways.

With his free hand, he picked up a clean washcloth and lightly dabbed at Isshin’s downturned face. Isshin froze, batting long eyelashes at the man in front of him as if to wordlessly say ‘what are you doing and why are you doing it?’ Unbothered, Sparra kept dabbing at the dirty spots on his face. Brown eyes met his and his own eyes crinkled into a warm smile. Flustered, Isshin broke the gaze first. He cleared his throat and went back to stitching Sparra’s wound while the red-head lowered his hand, pleased with his work.

“Just… be a bit more careful next time,” Isshin softly spoke, the tint of a blush still present on his face. Sparra laughed.

“I don’t think I have anything to worry about with you there by my side.”