It's dark. They moved me away from the window. Now I'm just staring at the ceiling, which looks different somehow. A different part of the same ceiling would look different, I think. Different shadows. It doesn't matter. I'm lying in the hospital bed again. Still.

     I dreamed that I left. Just because I can't sleep, it doesn't mean I can't dream, because I do. My dreams are so real, so much more real than reality, when I want to believe them. I dreamed I had friends, and a peaceful place we'd go to sit and talk together, and I was happier than I've ever really been. There were people who accepted me, and no one cared what I was or what I'd done. When a doctor started doing things to me again and reality began to work its way back through the dream, one of my friends held me and told me he wouldn't leave me - until everything went dark and I found I was still here, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

     I always dream impossible things. I fell asleep in my friend's arms, and woke up alone. Here. I can't blame him for breaking his promise and leaving me, because he was only a dream. Sometimes I wish I didn't dream, because when I come back to myself, it hurts so much to think that the happy memories aren't even really memories, and they're all I'll ever have.

     I don't know how long I've been here - the time just blends together - but I know I can't stand it anymore. I haven't been able to stand it for... I don't know how long I've been here. A long time. And it's night, and probably no one's paying close attention, and I know by now where they keep the knives.

     I shift and start to sit up, and that's when I start thinking I'm in a different room, but I don't care why they moved me, because I know it's all the same. The bandages make my movements stiff and awkward, and I must be crying because there's a line of fire running down my cheek, stinging against raw skin. I don't care what they did this time, I just want it to stop.

     "Tsuzuki..."

     More fire running over my cheeks, because they are watching, and they won't let me cut my wrists again. Then I wonder why the voice saying my name sounds so young and hoarse and exhausted. But I don't care, I don't care, if I can just find something sharp before they get to me, maybe this time-

     "You shouldn't get out of - Watari!" The voice interrupts itself suddenly when I panic, rising from the bed and looking frantically around the room in search of anything I could use. The voice is familiar, and the name it calls sounds familiar, and I don't have time to think about more than that before there are arms wrapped around my chest, holding me - and that's familiar too, so I pause.

     ...Maybe it wasn't a dream?

     I'm exhausted, and I slump into his arms, where he lowers me to the floor. He doesn't ask if I'm okay, and I remember now that he doesn't have to, because he knows. He just holds me, the two of us leaning against the wall, and the lights come on a few seconds later.

     "I thought I dreamed it all," I mumble into his shoulder in response to Watari's anxious questioning. "I woke up and I thought I was..." I don't want to talk about it, because if I was sleeping, then I'm not dreaming.

     "You're not," Hisoka tells me quietly, carefully brushing the tears away with his thumb. My skin is so raw from the heat of Touda's flames that even that hurts a little, but he's trying his best to be gentle. "You're really here, and so am I."

     Watari hums thoughtfully. "When Tatsumi rescued you, you still had your arms around each other, even though you were unconscious." He shrugs, and gives us an almost vapid smile, as if he doesn't understand more than has been said out loud. I know he does, and he proves it. "Maybe we should have just left you wrapped around each other when we got you back, instead of giving you each a bed of your own."

     I expect Hisoka to blush, but he doesn't. Or maybe I just can't tell, because his face is slightly reddened from the fire too. "Maybe..." is all he says.

     Once I've calmed down, and we're back in our beds, and Watari's adequately convinced that he doesn't need to hover any more, Hisoka elaborates. He knows what I was doing, and why. "It wasn't a dream, and it won't end." His voice is still hoarse from the smoke and the screaming, but he forces the words out anyhow. "Unless you make it end, and I won't let you."

     Before Watari left, the two of them pushed our beds together so that Hisoka can hold my hand while we rest. He squeezes it now, and I want to apologize for scaring him so much - his eyes were wide and frightened when the lights came on and I got a glimpse of his face. He shakes his head before I can say a word, now looking only tired.

     "I don't blame you. Just... don't ever try it again."

     I can't promise anything - I'm not good enough for that, and my promises have gotten me into trouble - but I'll do what I can. I turn onto my side towards him, drawing both of our hands up so I can see them, twined together beside my pillow. It's much better than looking at the ceiling, or out the window - as soon as I open my eyes again, I'll remember that I was never dreaming. Or maybe that I'm in a dream I don't have to wake up from, ever again.