It was him. His idiot. And that same soft voice when he thought he knew what was coming. Hiko closed his eyes briefly, thankful just to hear his voice. He was alive. That was good. His hand tightened on the phone, and he opened his eyes.
"Kenshin." If there was any relief in that one word, Hiko would deny it to his dying day. He stopped there. What else was there to say? Hiko hadn't planned out the conversation. That Kenshin even answered the phone was a surprise.
He remembered a grubby-handed little kid handing him a mangled half-sandwich. It was a time when it was more important that Kenshin have something to eat, but stubborn idiot that he was, the kid had gone and torn his sandwich in two for the both of them. Scraped knees. Cereal in front of the TV, when they had one. Driving in comfortable silence as the world slipped by dusty windows. Berating him for whatever new stupid thing he'd done.
The images flashed so quickly, Hiko's heart clenched. Eight years and no word. And the first time his idiot makes contact is with repeated phone calls and a cryptic message that probably wasn't even intentional. How typical.
"Do you know how many times you called me the other night? Eleven! Eleven times, and then that crazy message. I didn't know if you were dying or what! Since you answered the phone, I know you survived. Congratulations. What happened?" What did you do? Why did you feel the need for contact after all this time?
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It was him. His idiot. And that same soft voice when he thought he knew what was coming. Hiko closed his eyes briefly, thankful just to hear his voice. He was alive. That was good. His hand tightened on the phone, and he opened his eyes.
"Kenshin." If there was any relief in that one word, Hiko would deny it to his dying day. He stopped there. What else was there to say? Hiko hadn't planned out the conversation. That Kenshin even answered the phone was a surprise.
He remembered a grubby-handed little kid handing him a mangled half-sandwich. It was a time when it was more important that Kenshin have something to eat, but stubborn idiot that he was, the kid had gone and torn his sandwich in two for the both of them. Scraped knees. Cereal in front of the TV, when they had one. Driving in comfortable silence as the world slipped by dusty windows. Berating him for whatever new stupid thing he'd done.
The images flashed so quickly, Hiko's heart clenched. Eight years and no word. And the first time his idiot makes contact is with repeated phone calls and a cryptic message that probably wasn't even intentional. How typical.
"Do you know how many times you called me the other night? Eleven! Eleven times, and then that crazy message. I didn't know if you were dying or what! Since you answered the phone, I know you survived. Congratulations. What happened?" What did you do? Why did you feel the need for contact after all this time?