InsaneJournal

Who: Oyama Yuriko (narrative)
What: Arriving in the nick of time
When: Early evening, 9/10
Where: Turin's apartment
Rating/Warning: PG
Status: Complete



It had been almost thirty-six hours since Yuriko had heard from Turin, and at this point, she was beginning to wonder.

They had made plans a few nights ago to go to dinner, but he was now two hours late, and it was unlike him. He'd seemed occupied ever since their last dinner date; he'd been quiet and contemplative. Yuriko had written it off as nerves last time, but now she was feeling them herself. It was bad enough that she'd left the club and set off to drive up here to his apartment.

Was he having second thoughts about marrying her?

If so, Yuriko reasoned, making a slightly-too-sharp left turn, all they could do was discuss it. It had been awfully quick, that he had proposed; hopefully he wasn't of the opinion that he needed to sever ties with her completely. Never mind the cross hairs in her eyes, or the metal on her bones.

She wouldn't, in theory, blame him for running. Yuriko sighed as she waited at a light. Between her dreams, her scars, her bodily modifications, and all that came with it, it was a lot of baggage for any one man to handle. She loved him, but hopefully she could be adult about setting him free.

Arriving at Turin's, she parked and walked hesitantly up the steps to his second-floor flat. "Turin?" Yuriko called through the door, willing her voice to be calm. "Turin, may I come in?"

There was no answer.

After knocking once more, Yuriko decided to risk it. She knew Turin had an extra key under his mat. She reached down and picked it up with hands that she knew were shaking, even if she couldn't see them shake.

When she opened the door, though, she was assaulted by the smell. It was a sick, sweet smell - tea? Overripe ginger?

Her voice was frail. "Turin?"

As she turned the corner into his bedroom, though, she saw him. All her worries flew away, replaced by new, more immediate panic as she rushed to his side. "Turin!"

He was curled into a ball, surrounded by what looked like a pool of his own sweat. His hair was mussed, eyes half open, and when Yuriko felt his forehead, he was burning up. She shook him gently. "Turin. Turin, it's Yuri-chan, answer me."

All she got was a soft whimper, and unfocused eyes. Yuriko swallowed her terror and called 911.