I'll always come when you call.

Those had been the words of a child, one who hadn't yet learned about the harsh reality of his best friend's home life, and there were going to be times when he couldn't run to him because that would put him in danger. The promise of someone who didn't know that the world of Kings was waiting for them, or that it would shatter bonds and commitments, and leave them with nothing but the painful sting of betrayal and angry words to fill the chasm between.

Yet, it was those words that were echoing through the vanguard's mind right then as he tried to get Fushimi to remain on the bed, a battle that had been going on for nearly an hour now, with neither side close to admitting defeat. "Stop fighting me," He scolded, lifting his voice slightly in the hopes that his voice would reach Fushimi, but at the last minute, he was forced to throw his hands up to protect himself as the other man flailed at him. Fighting him, although Yata very much doubted that the Blue had a clue who was there with him right now. Which was probably a good thing, considering how they usually could barely set eyes on one another without the hurt and angry words bubbling up, inflicting fresh wounds and pushing them further away from one another than ever.

I miss you, he nearly said there and then, knowing that Fushimi probably wouldn't remember it, and yet he couldn't say it. It was true, painfully so, to the point where there were still days when it felt as though he was still stood in that alley across from Fushimi as the traitor burned their bond and walked away, leaving him unable to move or breathe. I wanted to shout to you that day, he thought, looking down at the feverish man. I wanted to run after you, and…

And what?

In the end, that was why he hadn't gone after him because he hadn't known what to do or say. It had hurt to watch Fushimi burn away his ties to HOMRA… to him… but it had been a thousand times worse realising that he had missed the warning signs. I'll always come when you call, it had been years since the first time he'd said that, but it had become a cornerstone of their friendship. Until it hadn't… until, Saru's voice had become lost in the noise and chaos of HOMRA and Kings, and life rushing forward and carrying Yata away with it. How many times had Fushimi tried to tell him? How often had he called out, waiting for Yata to turn towards him as he once had?

Yata gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut against the internal voice that was rarely quiet when Fushimi was involved. He knew that the Blue thought that he didn't think about things, that he rushed into their fights on instinct, and because of the needling words, aimed with the precision that came from knowing someone and caring too deeply. And some days that was true because sometimes it was easier to lose himself in the anger and hurt and lash out because of it. But there were other days, when he would hesitate, if only for a moment because of these thoughts, and because some part of him was desperate to stop and reach out as he had in the past. He'd always chickened out though because he didn't have the words, because there was too much between them, and instead he would fight Fushimi, he would shout challenges, and shine red, keeping the Blue's attention on him.

Chasing him in the only way, he knew these days.

He was wrenched out of his thoughts with a startled yelp, as a flailing hand caught his chin, his teeth rattling together from the impact as he scrambled back out of reach. "Damn it, Saru," he cursed, rubbing at his chin, and for the first time wondering how they had wound up in this situation. Because he came for you… The small voice that wouldn't let him hide from the fact that he was as responsible for their falling out as Saruhiko, if not more, pointed out and he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, unable to argue.

Yata snapped his mouth shut just before the usual retort could slip out as he glowered across at Saruhiko, trying to ignore the flutter of worry as he realised that the Blue seemed unusually unsteady on his feet as he prowled towards him. Eyes unnaturally bright behind the glasses, and for a moment Yata was back in that dark house, staring down at fevered Saruhiko who was looking up at him as though he held all the answers in the world. The similarity doused whatever lingering temptation he'd had to fight the Blue, and he turned away with a muttered. "I don't have time for you today." In retrospect, he should have realised that wasn't going to work, but then again, he had always been blind when it came to Fushimi, and he winced as a knife shot past his head and ricocheted off the wall.

Whirling back to face the Blue, he could feel his red beginning to spark around his hands until he saw the way Fushimi was blinking, staring between his hand and the knife that had clattered harmlessly to the ground. He hadn't intended to miss, or not by such a large margin, Yata realised with a scowl. He already knew from painful experience that the Blue wouldn't hold back around him, but it was still unsettling, although not as much as the confusion that seemed to be taking hold now. And Yata sighed, as he realised this situation was a lot more similar to the one in his memory that he wanted to admit, and he turned slightly, keeping half an eye on Fushimi in case he tried again. "Go home, Saru," he ordered him, already knowing it wasn't going to work but needing to try, if only for his own peace of mind. "Get some rest and get one of 'them' to keep an eye on you."

The bitterness that he hadn't quite managed to suppress seemed to catch Fushimi's attention because the confusion faded away and a smirk – that also seemed off-centre today spread across his lips. "Mi-sa-ki," Fushimi said in a singsong as he took a few clumsy steps forward, apparently unable to hold a straight line at this point, although he was trying. Seemingly determined to reach Yata despite everything, and after a particularly worrying lurch, the vanguard cursed and moved to meet him.

Just in time, as it turned out because Fushimi managed another step before stumbling and making no effort to catch himself. Yata had seen the colour drain from his face a split second before, and had lunged forward and managed to catch him, stumbling himself under the added weight. "Idiot," he growled, before frowning as he felt the heat coming off Fushimi, who rather than pulling away from him, seemed to be slumping into him. "Why are you trying to fight me when you're ill?" He demanded, adjusting his hold as best he could, not wanting to dump the Blue on the ground. "Saru? Damn mon…" He trailed off, as what little resistance there had been melted away, Fushimi collapsing against him with no effort to take any of his own weight. For a terrifying moment, he thought that he had passed out, but then Fushimi spoke, voice little more than a strained whisper as he let out a hollow chuckle.

"It was the only way to make you hear me…"

Yata supposed that there must be some irony in the fact that even though Fushimi now had a clan that he 'belonged' with, it had still been him that he had reached out to, but he couldn't find it right now. And those whispered words had meant that he'd had no choice but to take care of himself, or at least that was what he was what he'd told himself, even though deep down he knew that the moment he'd moved to catch Fushimi he'd already made his decision. He hadn't been there before, that didn't mean he couldn't be there now, even if it was too little too late for the state of their relationship. So here he was, rubbing at his chin, and trying to work out what to do next because this went beyond a lousy cold that could be cleared up with fried-rice and a bit of attention.

However, that would be a start, he thought after a moment, eyes narrow as he studied Fushimi. He'd managed to coax some medication pilfered from the bathroom cabinet down the Blue after hauling him back here, and it seemed to at least be keeping the fever at bay for the time being. He knew all too well how quickly that could change though, remembering the scare his little brother had given them once in a similar situation. Please don't let it come to that, he thought, not relishing the idea of having to try and haul Fushimi to the bathroom and feeling strangely possessive at the thought that if it got worse, he might need to reach out for help. Not that he had any place to feel like that, even if Fushimi had for some reason decided to reach out to him in his moment of need.

"M-Misaki…"

Yata froze at the quiet whisper, eyes darting to Fushimi's face and finding the other's eyes finally open again, he felt as though he might topple over from the relief. The feeling lasted for a moment before he realised that the other man wasn't looking at him and that although the dark eyes were open, they were half-lidded and unfocused, staring off towards the doorway just behind him. "M-isaki..?" It softer this time, more questioning, his expression crumpling and Yata hesitantly stepped into the line of his sight, taking a deep breath.

"I'm here," he tried desperately for the same upbeat tone he'd used back then. It was hard because they were different people now, and the situation was different, his worry rawer and no longer mitigated by the simple belief that things were always going to be okay. And he held his breath, waiting for either anger or confusion as Fushimi realised that the reality was nothing like the memory gripping him right now, and for a second there was a flicker in Fushimi's eyes as they focused on him. A flash of comprehension, and shock, and then he was blinking. Looking lost, and hopeful all at once, and it was the soft, wondering voice of a child that followed.

"You really came…"

"Idiot," Yata whispered just as softly, and just for a moment, he let himself be that old Misaki, uncomplicated by everything that had happened since. "I told you that I'll always come when you call."

One way or another, and sometimes too late.

But I will always come.