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It couldn't have come at a more inopportune time.
The five of them had slept over at Shu's house last night after a lively dinner and other oddball shenanigans (Wataru letting loose a flock of doves in the middle of Shu's living room, Kanata spilling soy sauce all over the tablecloth) and Natsume, relaxed enough to go binderless in his loose-fitting pajama shirt, had gotten a craving in the middle of the night and padded around Shu's kitchen trying to locate any chocolate before giving up and falling asleep next to Wataru on the couch.
He wakes with agonizing pain, and doubles over, choking back a groan and clutching at his stomach. Wataru stirs, but doesn't wake up, and Natsume looks out the bay windows— it's barely light outside, the morning fog covering any signs of the rising sun, and he doesn't want to be a nuisance. He rises, slowly, leaning against the back of the antique sofa, dizziness almost overtaking him, but manages to get to his feet and tiptoe over to the bathroom, stepping over Kanata on the way.
He doesn't want to look, he knows what he's about to see, but it doesn't change the stinging of tears in his eyes when he peels off his plaid pajama pants, pulls at the waistband of his boxers, and sees a characteristic smattering of blood.
Natsume cries, then. Burying his face in his hands and sitting down on the toilet— nearly falling in when he realizes the seat has been left up, and it's another reminder, another twist in his gut. He doesn't make much noise, but it hurts when he stands to set the seat back down, so badly that he can't restrain a tiny sob in his throat, and he curses whatever gods created his body this way, vowing all sorts of occult revenge as the sharp stabbing pain in his abdomen returns.
No one is awake yet, so Natsume has to isolate himself before anyone finds out. He takes a small towel from under the sink (better to get a towel dirty than Shu's nice sheets,) muffles a groan while standing up again, bites his bottom lip hard enough to worry another cold sore into it, and hobbles out of the bathroom and towards the narrow wood-paneled hallways of Shu's house, into a guestroom, locking the door behind him and getting into the neatly made bed as fast as he can. He stuffs the towel into his boxers, regret and shame pooling in his cheeks— there's no way this house would have any menstrual products in it, it's just Shu and Mika living here, and (he grimaces, hating himself for being jealous) they wouldn't need something like that.
Natsume curls into himself, huddled in the luxurious duvet, tears of pain and frustration falling freely now that he's far enough away from the others not to bother them. A nagging at the back of his head reminds him, though— Rei can smell blood from a distance, for one, and Wataru or pretty much anyone would be able to feel the absolute miasma of dysphoria and agony he's giving off if they come anywhere near this room. He won't be alone with himself for long, and even though he wants to be taken care of, just the thought of the others seeing him like this (vulnerable, overwhelmed, a child in the face of pain and self-hate) is humiliating enough.
Because usually, he isn't bothered by this part of him. Aside from the near-constant paranoia that he'll be outed, that the Emperor will find out somehow and get him expelled, and the unpleasant self-consciousness that his binder isn't doing its job (but it is, he reassures himself, Shu made it for him so there's no way it wouldn't work) Natsume doesn't really mind his body, as long as he doesn't look as his top half in the mirror before a shower. Sometimes he quite literally forgets that he doesn't have a dick. He doesn't really need one.
But one week out of every month, Natsume spends his time in bed or in the infirmary, curled up into a ball, clutching at his hair and stomach and clawing down his arms just to feel something other than the excruciating pain of the cramps, engulfed in a sickening aura that repulses almost anyone who tries to get close. His periods are long, heavy and painful, like they're trying on purpose to convince him that he's nothing more than a girl just pretending to be a real boy.
Disgusting. Repulsive. Too much fat and curve and blood and emptiness. How does this body manage to be so much excess and yet so hollow?
Natsume really, really wants to die.
Without warning, a few crystals detach from the rococo chandelier and go flying across the room, shattering into lead-glass stardust against the opposite wall. He represses the surge of fear and the gasp that threatens to escape. The sound of it was quite loud, and there's no way someone didn't wake up at that. His heart is pounding— the pain returns, now that he's been reminded of his body yet again, and he grabs a pillow and pulls it to him, biting hard into it to avoid screaming.
He can't control his power when he's like this. Cups will rattle and fall off tables, trinkets will crush themselves into dust, lightbulbs will shatter and sputter out. If only he could channel some of this excess magic into healing, but his emotions and energy are much too dark for that. Natsume holds his breath, as if even just exhaling would wake up the whole house, waiting for the next shoe (or clock, or painting, or whatever expensive thing Shu has hanging on his wall) to drop.
I'm cursed. I ruin everything. I don't even have to touch things to ruin them. This is a curse. I've always been cursed.
Trying to justify the pain. As if there has to be a reason.
He tries to think of sleep. Concentrates on a heaviness behind his eyelids. Remembers how exhausted he is, how much energy he's expending just to live. But the pain keeps him up, and the thoughts keep him conscious, and together they pull him under, drowning him in it, in this almost bottomless swamp of reminders of how utterly disgusting he must be.
At times like this Natsume argues with himself over asking for help. He knows he's strong enough to outlast this, he's done it many times before, but he certainly doesn't feel that strength coming to him now. Part of him craves a soothing touch, a kind voice, warm arms or a warm bath; part of him berates that vulnerability, reminds him of his own shameful body, makes the miasma around him stronger to repel anyone that wants to help him— a defense mechanism, an unconscious spell. He doesn't know how long he's been awake, how long he's been in pain— time has been blurring around him, not slowing down or speeding up but rather warping and bulging and shifting its linearity into mosaic. Two minutes equals two hours, but one hour is ten minutes, and the space around him feels like a patchwork of uneven chronology. How long has it been since the last time he thought of dying? At least, a few seconds; at most, an hour and a half.
Someone is speaking. "...Haven't seen Sakasaki-kun since I woke up."
"Wataru. Didn't he fall asleep on you? Wataru, wake up—"
"Hmm? I think so, where is he—"
"Nacchan's 'gone'...?"
Natsume groans into the pillow, and that's when the elegant lamp on the nightstand next to him falls with a terrible crash onto the hardwood floor. From a few rooms over he hears a startled shout.
"I'm going to go find him, what on earth could he be doing now—"
Not Shu-niisan, please not him.
Natsume burrows under the covers, trying to conceal the lump that his body is, staying as silent as possible as Shu's characteristically brisk footsteps echo up the hallway. He can feel the aura around him flicker, then come back stronger, as if it's trying to decide for him what to do. It's not that Shu doesn't know— the other oddballs are all aware, after all— it's that Shu is so clean, and he is so dirty, and he can't bear the thought of Shu (germophobe, perfect, clean freak Shu) having to handle any of this.
Shu stops in front of the doorway, then knocks firmly.
"Natsume? Are you in here? I'm coming in," he snaps, a tinge of worry in his voice, and Natsume presses his lips shut before he can plead with him not to enter, not to bother helping him, he's disgusting—
Shu opens the door, and Natsume hears his footsteps stop, then a gasp of breath, and the door shuts again. "Wataru, get in here, there's something very wrong!"
He can barely tell if it's Wataru that hurries towards his room. Natsume can usually identify him easily by his gait, but those footsteps have no waltz or spring to them— instead, Wataru is running, solidly and straightforwardly, no mirth or dalliance to be heard. "Shu?! What could have possibly— ah."
Natsume braces himself.
"What could have happened, indeed," he hears Wataru mutter worriedly, and curls up further into the spasm of pain as Wataru cuts a path into the miasma around him, parting the sea of it with his light, coming to Natsume's bedside and then resting a large, gentle hand on the obvious swell of his shoulder against the duvet. "Natsume-kun..."
The light stings when Wataru peels back the blankets. Natsume squeezes his eyes closed, clutches at his face to cover up the evidence, but another pair of hands (thinner, longer fingers, with a grip even more gentle yet firm) tugs them away, entwines their fingers.
"Natsume...?"
"Nngh," Natsume grunts, his voice cracking from disuse. No words, no thank you.
"Are you all right?"
Natsume vehemently nods, grumbles out something that (he hopes) sounds like "fine, leave me alone," but Shu doesn't leave him alone.
"No, you're obviously not," he huffs, but there's still a tender note in his voice. "I'll run you a bath, do you need anything else? Wataru, get someone to run to the convenience store for me— a box of ultra tampons, painkillers, some chocolates..."
Natsume blinks tears back from his eyes. "How did you..."
How did you know what size I needed, how did you know chocolate helps, how did you even know what was happening before you even looked at me—
"Isn't it obvious? We could feel your dysphoria the moment we walked in here," Wataru answers. "I'll have to stay to keep this under control. Shu, you prepare the bath, maybe the little crow could go?"
"'M not a baby," Natsume mumbles, but curls up around Shu's hands in his anyway. Just the touch is soothing, and he doesn't want to let go, even when Shu has to pull away to start the bathwater.
"I'll be back in a moment," Shu assures him, letting go of Natsume's hands, and Natsume tries not to pout. Wataru takes up the torch instead, sitting down on the bed next to him, petting through his hair.
"Shishouuuu," Natsume whines. He's surprised at how easily he gives into the affection, but it's Wataru, and no matter how he spins it, it makes him feel much less disgusting and much more wanted.
"Hmm? Now what could my dear, treasured Natsume-kun want? Anything you ask for, I will gladly give! I am your Hibiki Wataru, after all~"
Natsume doesn't even try to stop himself. "Cuddle."
Wataru's eyes go wide for a moment, before he laughs, the sparkle in his voice warming Natsume from the inside out. "Of course, of course!" he exclaims, walking over to the other side of the queen bed and slipping in next to Natsume, gathering him close in strong, warm arms. Wataru is so soothing, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other stroking his hair, and Natsume immediately sags into his hold, sighing in relief. "There we are... Let me know if I must change my position, yes?"
"Mmhm," Natsume nods. The light that flows around Wataru is slowly seeping into him, canceling some of the darkness in the room, and he wouldn't be surprised if the healing effect he's starting to feel isn't just in his head. Wataru is a sun of his own, and Natsume has always been drawn to follow him, childish Icarus reaching out his hand— but now that Wataru is this close, he's not burning, he's not melting and plummeting and drowning, there's nothing but a glow that spreads within him and makes him shine from the inside out.
It still hurts, though, and he knows Wataru can't fix everything. But that's fine. He knows now, that with enough chocolate and warm water and painkillers and attention, this will pass, and he'll sleep well for the first time in what seems like forever.
Vaguely he hears the noise of running water from the bathroom, and notes the deeper sound, the way it hits more water rather than the hard bottom of the porcelain tub. Shu is humming something, a song he's never heard before, as he shuts off the water and the pipes squeak to a stop. Walking out of the bathroom and across the room, he pokes his head through the door and calls out. "Kagehira? Kagehira, come here."
A scamper of movement from a few rooms over, and Mika is there in the doorway, all clumsy feet and sparkling eyes. "Oshi-san! Somethin' wrong?"
"I need you to go down to the store and pick up a few things— here, a list, and pay for it with this, make sure to bring the change back," Shu explains, setting a folded piece of notebook paper (when did he write that down?) and a bank note of indeterminate value in the palm of Mika's hand. "Bring Rei or Kanata with you if you need."
"I got it, I can go by myself," Mika nods, excitedly. "Uhh... is Nakkun okay?"
"Worry about him when you get home. Quickly, quickly!" Shu urges him, and Mika slides on a pair of shoes. "No, get changed, I'd die before I let my doll get caught wearing pajamas in public—"
Mika giggles, flees upstairs to the master bedroom. Natsume only needs to close his eyes for what seems like a few seconds before he's back, hair messy and eyes heavy lidded, but in something passable for everyday clothes. He wiggles his feet back into his shoes, not even getting his heel in all the way before he scampers out the door— but not before leaning up to leave an especially loud and sloppy kiss right on Shu's mouth.
"'Kay, I'm off~"
"Kagehira! Fix your shoes," Shu yells out after him, to no avail. He sighs, closes the door and turns back to Natsume— now nestled in Wataru's arms. "Your bath is ready, don't let it cool," he says simply. "Unless, God forbid, I wasted all my time and water on a bath that Wataru will never let you enter."
Wataru sighs dramatically. "If I must," he bemoans, and slides his arm out from under Natsume, garnering a little groan of protest. "You heard Shu, my dear, a bath will surely help."
Natsume resists the urge to pout and kick. Now that Wataru has held him long enough, he feels limp and melty and doesn't want to move. But Shu had done this for him, and he can't deny that a bath would definitely help him feel more clean, if anything, so he groans and tries to sit up.
It doesn't quite work.
The pain comes back anew, and Natsume regrets everything because the cramps he had almost forgotten about have now returned with a vengeance, and his body seems to be determined to keep him from forgetting. He yelps, doubles back over— Wataru leaps out of bed and hurries to his side, gently scooping up Natsume's weakened body in his arms and lifting him effortlessly.
If he had the strength, Natsume would be flailing in protest at being so easily carried around, complaining that he's not a baby and that he can do it himself, but instead he just huffs and lies back in Wataru's arms. “You don’t have to do that,” he complains halfheartedly, but of course he’s not putting any effort into his words so of course Wataru can tell that he’s not all that bothered by it.
“But I can, and so I will!” Wataru carries him into the bathroom, twirls him around once before lowering the cover on the toilet and setting him down. “Do you need me to…”
“No,” Natsume insists, flushing red at the implication— he knows it wouldn’t mean anything like that, but he’d be much too embarrassed to be undressed around anyone, much less Wataru, even if it’s not sexual. It’s only moments like these that he remembers, oh, I have a crush, and however small and innocent it may be, it’s still there.
Wataru laughs, playfully prodding Natsume’s cheek. “I was only teasing, of course.”
Why are you like this!!!!
“I’ll leave you to it, then, but take care, yes?” Wataru’s dazzling smile doesn’t quite conceal the concern on his face. He turns to shut the door behind him, adding, “Ah, and there are bubbles, if you’d like!”
Natsume sighs, and looks away from the mirror as he undresses, still on the toilet. Thankfully he doesn’t have to worry about the labor involved in taking off a binder, so getting the clothes off is relatively easy and mostly painless. He nearly forgot about the towel in his boxers, and tugs it out to find it only lightly spotted— he tosses it into the sink and runs the water a bit, to soak the stain before it dries in. I may as well take him up on the bubbles, he thinks, slipping from the toilet straight into the tub next to him and opening the sweet-smelling glass jar of bubble bath, the scent of honey vanilla filling his senses. The water is perfect, just hot enough to distract him and ease the pain, but not too hot as to make him dizzy, and he runs the water temporarily and pours a generous amount of bubble bath into the stream.
He sighs and slides down the tub, now that the steam is starting to clear his head, and notes that the bubbles were actually a thoughtful idea— he can't see his own body like this, can't stare at himself and get lost in thought. It allows him enough privacy and freedom to let himself relax, freedom to cherish the feeling of the water on his skin without becoming distracted by the sight of the shape of that skin he’s in.
The ache is still there in the pit of his stomach, but Natsume concentrates on the warmth, the smell of vanilla and honey and brown sugar, and regulates his breathing, and it’s enough to keep his mind off the pain. He floats, and thinks of Kanata— puka, puka. Somewhere along the line, he must have learned from him.
He lets his head sink enough to keep his ears underwater, listens to the sound of it, the way it cancels almost all noise and surrounds him in a comfortable silence. For a few minutes, he drifts, and doesn’t even notice the sound of the front door opening and closing, or Mika’s piping call of “I’m baaack~” or even the footsteps approaching the bathroom.
Then a knock at the door interrupts the trance, and Natsume sits up, taking his head out of the water and letting his hair drip, bubbles still trapped in the shell of his ears. “Natsume? May I come in?”
It’s Shu, probably bringing in what Mika went to go pick up. “Come IN,” Natsume says, focused enough to start talking like he usually does, sinking back into the bubbles that cover him from the neck down. Shu enters the room, carrying a plastic bag, carefully averting his eyes from the tub. “It’s fine, I have BUBBLES,” Natsume assures him, and Shu lets himself look over, sighing in relief.
“I knew those were a good idea,” he notes, and begins to unpack the bag. There’s a large box of tampons— “We can keep these here, in case this happens again,” Shu insists— a bottle of painkillers, a can of club soda, and a three-pack of Meiji milk chocolate. He sets them all down on the toilet cover, and then looks over into the sink. Natsume winces, but Shu’s reaction is less angry and more relieved. “I’ll wash this towel— I appreciate you using it instead of possibly getting the sheets dirty.”
Natsume can’t help but feel satisfied with himself. At least this much, he can be less of a burden.
Shu opens the door and immediately makes a startled sound. Natsume peers over the side of the tub to find Kanata standing directly in the doorway, swaying calmly. “Kanata?! Don’t startle me like that! What are you doing here?”
“I came to ‘visit’ Nacchan.” Kanata’s voice is lilting and breathy, calming as always.
“Fine, but don’t try to get in the tub with him…”
“You don’t have to worry, Shu~ Fish will die if they swim in ‘soap,’ and I don’t like ‘hot water.’” Kanata wobbles in, letting Shu pass him and closing the door behind him. “Hello, Nacchan. You’re covered in ‘bubbles.’”
“Yes,” Natsume replies. “I am.”
“That is ‘good.’” Kanata sways. “Is the ‘water’ helping? Water is good for the ‘soul,’ you know…”
“It’s quite NICE,” Natsume agrees, letting his head fall back a little further. “Puka, puka, RIGHT?”
“Yes, yes… Nacchan is smart. Puka, puka… and the ‘pain’ goes away.” Kanata sighs happily, sitting down and leaning against the wall of the tub. “I brought you a ‘friend.’”
“I’m not sure if I—"
Kanata extends his hand and drops something yellow into the water. It falls into the bubbles, and Natsume has to search through them to find it.
It’s a rubber duck.
“Kanata-niisan, I’m not a CHILD,” he pouts.
“Everyone needs a ‘bathtime friend,’” Kanata insists.
“But I—"
“His name is ‘Tanaka,’” he continues. Natsume chokes down a bout of laughter.
“Couldn’t you… think of a better NAME?” Kanata pouts in response, puffing out his cheeks. “All right, FINE. I’ll take care of HIM.”
“Yay~ Nacchan has a new ‘friend,’ so I’m happy.”
The interaction is thoroughly confusing, as usual, but Natsume is honestly glad to be part of it.
“You have ‘chocolate?’ Did Mi… Mi~san get it for you?” Kanata still can’t seem to remember Mika’s name.
“Yes… I’d eat some now, but my hands are all WET,” Natsume sighs. His mouth waters just thinking about it— he realizes he hasn’t eaten yet today, and taking painkillers on an empty stomach would be less than healthy. Tanaka bobs up through the bubbles, and Natsume looks at it for a moment, watching its little orange beak poke through the mountains of foam.
He doesn’t notice Kanata opening the chocolate until Kanata has a square of it in his hand and is holding it out to Natsume. “Nacchan, say ‘aah~’”
“What are you doing, don’t drop it, you don’t need to feed it to ME—“
“‘Aah~’”
Kanata is quite insistent. Well. Natsume supposes he can let himself get spoiled for once. He opens his lips and lets Kanata drop the square onto his tongue, feeling it melt in his mouth, spread across his tongue and permeate his senses for one beautiful moment, before it disintegrates entirely from the heat both inside and out.
“Was it ‘yummy?’” Kanata sways happily, breaking off another piece of chocolate. “Have some more~”
This time, Natsume gladly opens his mouth.
After a good thirty minutes and the disappearance of exactly one chocolate bar, Natsume is finally starting to get a bit dizzy, so he prepares to get out.
“Make sure to keep your ‘friend’ with you, okay~?” Kanata gets up, and waves slowly before closing the door, leaving Natsume to drain the tub. He listens to the sound of the water being swallowed, the way only bubbles are left behind, before trying to stand up and realizing this isn’t going to work. He can barely move, but he starts to panic because what else can he do? He’s too lightheaded and dizzy to stand up and climb out, but letting someone else drag him out is…
And then Wataru is at the door, knocking. “Natsume-kun, are you finished with your bath? Do you need any help?”
Natsume groans.
Upon reflection, he really should not have responded with that, because Wataru takes it as a cry for help and opens the door to see Natsume half-slumped over the side of the tub, eyes fluttering closed and weakly sagging as the rest of the water drains from around him. Wataru acts quickly— without even looking at him, he grabs two towels off the rack, spreads one out underneath them and holds the corners of the other to Natsume’s shoulders, reaching in with his other arm to wrap around his waist and tug him gently towards him. Natsume drags his body up and out, with Wataru’s help, and his chest barely has time to make contact with the cold air before it’s covered by the towel. “There we are,” Wataru soothes. “Now I’m going to pull you out, yes? One, two, three—"
And then Natsume is in the air, and the other towel is draped over his back, and he’s covered on both sides and safe as Wataru lays him out on the bathroom rug. He doesn’t know if it was actual magic or just by sleight of hand, but whatever Wataru just attempted to do worked, and he lets out a long breath of relief.
“See? Nothing to be afraid of, hmm? Do not fear, for I am your Hibiki Wataru!” Wataru stands up, takes a flourishing bow. “Take your time, my dear, we will be waiting for you outside.”
As quickly as he came, Wataru is gone, and Natsume is left with conflicting feelings of absolute safety and uncontrollable heart flutters. He pulls another towel out from the sink cabinet, and cocoons himself in them, waiting until he’s dry.
Eventually Natsume manages to pull on his clothes, though his hair is still wet. He scoots himself up onto the toilet seat and finally puts a tampon in, grimacing the whole time. Wataru comes in (of course) to lift him and carry him back to the bed, where— no, he really wasn’t lying, all of them are waiting, including Mika who looks like he’s worried himself sick.
“And… voila! All clean and safe,” Wataru exclaims, lifting Natsume up on embarrassing display in front of everyone. Kanata applauds, Rei golf claps, Shu rubs his temples. Natsume hides his face in his hands.
Wataru sets him down in bed, and Shu pulls back the covers to let Natsume settle back in, curling up between him and Rei, who has joined the pile and opens the can of club soda, offering it and two capsules to Natsume. Gratefully, he swallows them, and the cold fizz of the water is a soothing counterpoint to the heat of the tub.
“Where were YOU?” Natsume asks, pointedly, but Rei doesn’t falter.
“They wouldn’t let me in until you were done bathing. You know how I am about blood.”
“I didn’t need to know THAT.” Natsume scrunches up his face. Kanata laughs.
“Let us know if you’d like us to leave,” Rei says, but Natsume squirms back down into the covers and nuzzles his face into the side of Rei’s arm, an adamant refusal.
“Stay,” he grumbles.
And this time, everyone stays.