Kis-My-Ft2, A Road There Isn’t Two Of

Title: A Road There Isn’t Two Of [Tamamori, Miyata, Fujigaya]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for action, ghosts
Summary: Tamamori grows best when backed into a corner, unfortunately.
AN: This is kind of a follow-up to that cube fic where Tamamori and Miyata fought the thing in the theater.

A Road There Isn’t Two Of

Miyata had passed out on the way home, curled in on himself around his chained arm, and he hadn’t woken up yet. Meanwhile Tamamori felt like he would never sleep again.

You’d think he’d have been pleased that he wasn’t going to be the group fuckup any more, contrary to all of Fujigaya and Yokoo’s early predictions, but Tamamori spent the night next to Miyata’s infirmary bed, thinking about how shit like this was just going to keep happening. He was going to keep on feeling things, apparently things even the others couldn’t feel, and pretty much none of those things were going to be good.

“Tama?” Miyata asked groggily just a little before dawn. His gaze was unfocused, and he still couldn’t put any weight or pressure on his left side. “I’m not dead, right?”

“No, idiot, you’re right here,” Tamamori answered without thinking. Miyata gave him a second, and Tamamori’s brain caught up to remind that he could be talking to Miyata either way. “You’re alive, doofus. You hurt all over, right?”

“Yes,” Miyata said. His eyes closed, breathing hitching every other breath or so in a way that Tamamori didn’t like. “Except my arm. I still can’t feel it. I’m scared.”

“Okay, okay,” Tamamori said, hands already on Miyata’s skin before he was done speaking. He dug his fingers into the inside of Miyata’s wrist, frowning at how chilled and clammy Miyata’s skin still was there. “Can you feel that?”

“No,” Miyata answered, voice softer and even more scared. The fear was making it worse, prolonging the numbness of being ghost-touched, but it wasn’t like you could tell somebody to stop being scared. Tamamori spent the next hour rubbing and pinching at Miyata’s skin, grumbling the entire time about how stupid Miyata was for getting hurt like this, for following him, for being his shield, how Tamamori was just going to have to train a lot harder to save him from himself and training was tedious and hard and this was all Miyata’s fault.

By the time Totsuka came back to check on Miyata, he could curl his fingers enough to grip Tamamori’s hand. Totsuka nodded approval at how the thermometer stuck under Miyata’s armpit was only 2 degrees off normal and said that it was all right if Miyata wanted to sleep off the rest of it in his own bed.

“Or whoever’s bed,” Totsuka said, giving Tamamori a wink that made Tamamori’s mouth bunch into a thin line. “Any familiar surroundings will do.”

Curled up against Miyata’s back in his bed (just for body heat!), Tamamori still couldn’t sleep. He was never going to close his eyes again without seeing those claws digging into Miyata’s shoulder and Miyata a boneless heap on the ground.

There wasn’t time to dwell on it; Tamamori was assigned an away mission the next day with Fujigaya and, of all people, Yaotome Hikaru. The three of them as a team didn’t make any sense, certainly nothing like the usual trio of one receptor-one shield-one kinetic. Tamamori didn’t get what he was doing there at all, half-trained and perpetually insomnia-frazzled. He was the one who found the source of the nightly banging and furniture moving, locating the remains of the ghostly housekeeper under the flagstones leading off the back porch. The feeling had been faint, but there, once Tamamori wandered over the right spot. She’d put up a hell of a fight, too, before they managed to bottle her.

“Knew you could do it,” Fujigaya said when they were on the train back home.

“What?” Tamamori demanded, thinking of the last seventeen times that Fujigaya had snapped at him for nearly getting them killed.

“When you’re backed into a corner, that’s when you finally dig in.” Fujigaya shrugged. “I could’ve spent the week doing training exercises, pissed both of us off, and you wouldn’t be that much better. So I said we’d do this.”

“You…” Tamamori’s mouth worked, irritation making it hard to form a sentence. “You!”

“Damn right, me.” Fujigaya settled back against the train seat, arms crossed, and closed his eyes. “If you’re gonna do shit that might get you killed, you might as well learn something from it. Solve my problem either way.”

Tamamori gritted his teeth and stared out the window. It was so damn annoying when he was right.

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