☁ / ☀ - 03/10 M, 2014:
The very afternoon that Yosuke commits to his long-awaited purchase, a story makes headlines that sends Souji's thoughts into a paranoid spiral he wasn't previously aware that he was capable of. A busy intersection, a truck, and a motorcycle-- and there isn't much story to tell beyond those three pieces, because afterward there weren't enough pieces left.
When the door to their shared apartment opens he's half expecting the nightmare visions from three hours worth of stress to have materialized themselves in the real world, and when Yosuke just grins and throws him the keys, he briefly wonders how long they would take to find if he were to bury them somewhere across town.
☁ - 09/19 F, 2014:
His paranoia has gradually faded into a delicate balance of unease and acceptance, and he lets it stand as such because he understands the importance of having something to call your own. Yosuke has two things in this world between his bike and his music, and as much as Souji is loathe to admit, the motorcycle has fared better thus far than its pedaled brethren.
It's while he's dwelling on this thought and trying to convince himself not to think of the rather violent extremes between the two that the bus he's taking passes the scene of an accident, and he only barely registers skid marks and broken glass in light of the mangled remains of someone's motorcycle-- and it doesn't matter that it's the wrong make, the wrong color, two cities too far away. He stumbles off at the next stop to be violently ill and walks the rest of the way to the bus station, cell phone pressed to one ear without hearing a single word ("Are you even listening, partner?"), but the words don't matter anyway; he just needs to hear the sound.
☂ - 02/26 Th, 2015:
Mist and slush cover the streets, and he's two steps from grabbing the other by the sleeve and making an idiot out of himself when Yosuke shakes his head in irritation and pockets his keys. "Black ice," he explains with a gesture toward the road, and Souji tries not to feel wildly justified when there are no less than four accidents by that afternoon.
☀ - 07/14 Tu, 2015:
Another story that makes headlines; a drunk driver and a motorcyclist, and he doesn't leave the television on long enough to hear which of them was killed and which was only paralyzed.
Yosuke glances over in response to the sudden silence, and when he finds the other with a white-knuckle grip on the remote, a brief flash of realization lights up his eyes. He puts down the windbreaker he'd only just picked up and slings himself over the couch instead, easing the remote away from his roommate and resolving to spend the evening channel surfing instead. He's not as practiced at the whole 'doing what others need of him without having to ask' thing as Souji is, but if the barest slip in the other's expression into brief, unguarded gratitude is anything to go by, he'd like to think he's done a damn good job for once.
☀ - 08/03 W, 2016:
He has to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid being rammed clear into a ditch, and he does one slow half-spin before pulling up to the fresh break in the guardrail and shouting to the teenager inside the car. He makes two phone calls from the side of the road before throwing down the kickstand to his bike and sliding into the ravine to pull the kid from his car, sitting him in the grass beside the wreckage and patting him reassuringly on the shoulder once it's clear that he'll be alright--severely shaken, but not injured.
This one doesn't make the news, and Souji wouldn't have had any way of knowing if it weren't for the voice-mail waiting for him, but he finds he's grateful anyway. If nothing else, he knows he won't have to worry until the one he doesn't hear about.
☂ / ☁ - 04/16 M, 2018:
It's early morning when Yosuke drags himself through the front door with a poorly-hidden limp, and it's a wasted effort anyway because there's no missing the scuffs along his cradled arm and the leg on that side, nor the bloodstain down the front of his shirt.
"I'm fine," he insists when Souji drops the phone he'd been dialing for the better part of an hour in order to silently grab him by the shirt sleeves, shaking him slightly before pulling him into a tight embrace. "Phone's not. Bike'll be alright," he goes on to say before Souji hugs him tighter and tells him to be quiet.
He obliges, and it's not until he's cleaned up and laying on the couch with Souji examining the damage to his arm before either of them bothers to speak of it again.
"What happened, anyway?"
"Nothing really; hit a curb. The road's kind of wet, and you know how the lights aren't that great over on--"
"Oh, come on! Never mind that, anyway, it's not like it's that big a deal--" The look Souji gives him is enough to quiet him again, and he glances pointedly away before eventually continuing, "Look, all I'm going to say is that some people really need to find better places to keep their trash cans, alright?"
If the laugh that manages to pull from his best friend is almost worth the embarrassment, the feeling of contentment when Souji calls in a sick day for them both and spends the next number of hours curled against his side more than makes up the difference.