Run from Your Problems

 The lights went out.

Lachlan saw flickers and flashes. There wasn't much to remember, just a deafening crash that rattled his bones inside his tight skin, harsh breathing echoing off the inside of a helmet, pain clawing in waves up his arms; distant voices in his ear.

Couldn't tell how long it lasted for, or when a bright beam speared down through the faintly pulsing gloom. His eyes lifted blindly to a shadow cutting a hole in the overwhelming white, saying words he didn't understand. Reminded him of a strange, crowded land with too many people, all babbling a sea of noise. They told him to unclip the harness pinning him down, but his numb, useless hands couldn't fumble it out.

There was a gentler voice, somewhere, that stilled his shaky efforts, taking hold of his hands. "Lockie— Lockie, close your eyes."

Couldn't see much anyway, only hear breathing echoing back at him. His hands refused to move properly, and hers gave them a phantom squeeze, the scent of lemon soap mixing with blood. His eyelids felt so heavy.

"Don't look, Lockie. Don't look."

He did as she said.

_________________

"You're alright to go now, Roku-san." A finger waved in his face, the woman behind it probably devastatingly beautiful enough back in her day to make a man never pull another stupid antic again. In the present day, she just looked terrifyingly close to his grandmother. "You're lucky it wasn't for long, otherwise the consequences could have been much worse."

"Yes, nurse-sama," Lachlan said meekly from the bed-board he'd been trapped at for the last hour or so, and bowed. "Thank you very much, nurse-sama."

"You will not do this again, or I will add needles to your medical requirements."

"I deeply apologise, I will not do it again, nurse-sama." At this point he may as well kiss the floor.

"Very good." She shooed him away, and, thoroughly shamed and treated as a delinquent grandson caught trying to ride his bike along a fallen tree for the second time in a week, he made his escape.

Once back out into the halls, he let out a sigh, gingerly sliding his now-gloveless hands into his pockets. Couldn't really stand to have them in the leather clipped to his waist right now, though it'd be good to have something to soothe instead of rough skin.

He settled for rubbing his left through the tough fabric of his sleeve, reluctant to wander in the direction of the barracks or whatever they were called. Grandma-nurse had given him orders to rub some of the special cream he'd lugged all the way from the village into his scars as soon as possible, but they could wait a few minutes until everyone cleared into the mess for lunch. Because God knew he wouldn't get any peace with the peanut gallery waiting to flay him, not after they'd had to interrupt the entire exercise.

Ah hell. He pushed a hand into his face, dragging pins-and-needles fingers through his fringe as his feet wandered outside instead. What a shit-show.

Picking up his feet into a jog, shaking out numb/burning fingers aggressively as he went, he settled along one of the trails that lead under sporadic copses of trees, the midday sun beating down between. The rhythm of it soothed the buckles holding his ribs just a bit too tight, his breath as steady as the beat of his boots thumping the dirt.

It smelled clean in a way the clinic couldn't, sweet spring flowers and the warmth of rippling grass filling his nose, birds twittering away into the bushes as his feet kicked up dust and plum-flower petals. No people out here, no one to see the scars as he pushed his sleeves up. Just the beat of his shoes, the breeze on his face, and the stillness of his thoughts.

He ran the whole loop until his feet started to protest before picking a place to flop down. Stretching out on a low hillock under the shade of an old gnarled chestnut-type tree, he puffed a lock of hair out of his eye, inhaling the heady sun-dried tomatoes scent of baked grass.

This was nice. Could spend a while out here, away from the judging looks and the leaderboard mocking him, letting him know they were well into spring and rocketing into summer. Barely more than half a year to get his act into gear. Barely any time at all.

He slung an arm over his face, flicking back over the chaos of just a couple hours ago despite himself, a tight wad of dread coiling up in his stomach. Notch-five. Spirit-state. He'd have to master that if he wanted to make it. One day they'd unlock it to ten, and if he kept avoiding it he'd lag all the way behind. Couldn't afford to fall apart whenever he went beyond three. All the others seemed to do just fine, even Drake, who hadn't been through some fancy school and picked out at the top of his class, either.

Time to put on your big-boy pants, Lockie. Can't cry to mama when the soup's too hot, anymore. He breathed deep and slow, shifting his arm to squint through his fingers at the leaves swaying above. "Hell, it's a damned mess, but it's mine to clean up."

"Buronniwan-san?"

Hadn't been expecting an answer to that. He propped himself up as the call floated over, catching the quiet step of light feet on dirt jogging up the path. Sounded like a woman's voice, too. Vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Secret admirer? He wondered wryly to himself.

The face of team Twelve's leader appeared above on the path, so probably not. Well, so much for no people out here.

"Buronniwan-san." She halted by the tree a respectable distance away, her face stiff as a board and not familiar enough to read, but considering their last encounter, well. It nearly knocked the socks off him when she bowed with some constipated version of apology instead of throwing a rock at him. "I apologise for my actions earlier today. It was not honourable for me to do what I did."

He blinked like an idiot, leaning on his left elbow, looking up at this girl taking a hammer to her pride and distantly wondering if she'd been possessed. Or else he'd fallen asleep and his subconscious had some interesting things going on. "Eeto. I... accept your apology, Matsuo-san."

"Thank you. I hope you recover well." She straightened with a nod, making as if to turn before abruptly freezing at a venomous snake in the grass, from the look of it.

He threw a quick glance around— oh. Shite. Bare hands, right. Well, that was unfortunate. Couldn't really casually flick these sleeves down over it, either. So he smiled up at her pale, maybe slightly nauseous expression, and scratched his nose. "Oh come on, it's not that bad."

"When... when did that happen?" She sounded as if she expected it to have sprouted overnight.

"Few years ago." He shrugged, casually tucking the left a little further under his body, her eyes definitely following it. "Little accident."

Her expression struggled somewhere between horror and pity. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks." He waved dismissively. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't hack away at my arms so much next time. The feedback's a pain."

"It hurts?"

Some days he really regretted opening his mouth. Looking at her stricken expression, today was one of those days. He plastered on a reassuring smile. "Not too much. Just some nerve damage—all this Samurai syncing can play havoc sometimes."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." If she kept that up, her face would end up stuck in that expression, and he'd probably fade away into glimmer motes on the wind.

"Ahh, it's fine." He finally sat up properly, his hands in his lap and out of view. "Don't worry about it. Both of us should get back, anyway—they'll have lunch in the hall by now."

"Yes. I suppose."

He could sense her still standing there, staring at his back as he rose with a grunt and pulled his sleeves back down, finally taking the gloves and slipping them on despite the heat. Pain and suffering. "You want me to walk you back?"

"No. Thank you." At the grimace in her voice and the sound of her feet finally moving, he nearly smiled, biting back the urge to tease her. That probably wouldn't go down well.

"Guess I'll take the long route, then." He stretched, wincing at the aches in his feet as he headed for the other direction, grass hissing against his legs. And paused, calling down after her. "Matsuo-san."

She turned, a hint of wariness in her shoulders, and he smiled. "Please don't tell anyone."

She considered him for a moment, her eyes flicking briefly to his arm, and looked for a moment as if she meant to say more than just, "Of course." before they went their separate ways.

Probably couldn't gossip about it anyway, he reflected as he meandered his way back. If she did say something, they'd be wondering how she knew. And knowing how gossip went, the story would turn into him running buck-naked through the woods seducing uptight minors. Which would be hilarious, but probably cause a whole host of issues.

In any case, it was bound to come out eventually, one way or another. These things always did.