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Sometimes, Miya Atsumu cannot get out of bed.
Sometimes, the pain forces him out.
Sometimes, the day is bad before he even hears the alarm. And sometimes, he knows the next day will be bad, yet tries to sleep as peacefully as he can anyway. But it’s still bad.
Today is a day like that.
Searing pain tore through the lower half of his abdomen, forcing him to curl into himself in an attempt to heat the area and get some kind of relief, but this act was hindered by the stiff soreness in his spine. Everywhere hurt.
Slowly turning to reach for his phone, he checks the time as dark blue light shone through his window.
3:47 AM.
Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he realised he was not going to be falling back into slumber any time soon. Climbing down the rungs of the ladder from his shared bunk bed, he quietly checks that his restless tossing didn’t wake Osamu, and once confirmed, grabs his maroon hot water bottle from his designated drawer, as marked with neon pink Post-It notes.
He takes the fox cover for extra measure.
He also grabs a tampon and an extra pad, for safety. No harm in doubling up, especially when it seems like it’s going to be a harsh one this month.
———
After cleaning up in the bathroom, he walks downstairs to the kitchen and opens the medicine cabinet, taking two paracetamols and pocketing the rest of the pack to take back to his room. His chest was feeling tender, and that was definitely a migraine that he could feel growing behind his eyes.
It never got easier. For some reason, his cycles had been getting worse and worse, sometimes forcing him to stay home and take it slow. Which meant missing practice. Which meant he just felt even worse.
The whistle of the kettle got higher, with a blunt click signalling that the water had boiled. Unscrewing the lid to the bottle, he carefully pours the water in so as to not burn himself, and screws the lid back on once full, sliding the bottle into the plush fox sleeve to avoid touching the hot rubber.
Sliding down onto the cool kitchen floor, Atsumu stretched his legs and felt some pressure release from his joints, before placing the bottle onto his lower stomach, thankfully easing the pain.
He drops his head back against the kitchen cupboards and stares up at the clock on the wall, the two hands shaped like wheat pointing out that it was now 4:13 AM.
Which meant another missed practice.
Sighing, he stares at the fox on his stomach and feels his fists clench. Tears well in his eyes out of frustration, or hormones, or probably both, and he feels the drip drip drip of them crashing onto his hands.
“Are ya okay?”
The voice of his brother startles him and makes him look up slightly too quickly, causing his neck to ache. After a soft groan and sniffle, he replies, “I’m fine.”
“Do ya want some company?” Osamu asks.
“Don’t ya have school tomorrow?” Atsumu replies, and receives a shrug in return.
Osamu pads closer to Atsumu, looking over to the kettle and deciding to refill it.
“Ginger tea?” He asks, already retrieving two matching grey and yellow cups from the upper shelves.
“Yer already making it anyway.” It doesn’t hold the usual bite it would. Far too early for that.
“Do ya want me to bring the cinnamon squares down too?”
“…yes, please.”
While Osamu works his way swiftly around the kitchen, Atsumu rests his head once again on the shelf behind him and raises his knees, which presses the warmth of the fox bottle further into his abdomen, letting himself listen to the shuffling of his brother.
The familiar blunt click of the kettle goes off again, and the sounds of pouring water, teaspoons clinking and stirring fill the small kitchen. Osamu brings the two cups of tea down first, then places the cinnamon cereal in between them. In the comfortable quiet, the brothers share their tea and the cereal. Atsumu feels the steam of the tea evaporate the dried tears off his cheeks, meaning his skin no longer felt as dry and cracked.
Osamu pulls his left knee up and rests his arms on it.
“Are ya staying home, then?”
“No choice,” Atsumu sighs. “Hurts.”
Osamu looks down at his lap with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Do ya want me ta stay with ya?”
Atsumu turns to Osamu with a wobbly lip and wide eyes, feeling overwhelmed at the offer.
Yes, please stay, he doesn’t say.
“Ya don’t have ta. But ya can if ya want,” he says with a sniff, feigning that he doesn’t care. But ‘Samu knows better.
Osamu opens his arm out, offering to Atsumu to lean on him in a gesture of comfort. Atsumu takes it.
“I’m sick of it, ‘Samu. I just want it ta stop,” he whispers. Osamu rubs his arm up and down Atsumu’s, hoping he sends the message that he cares, and really wants to help.
“Any word from the endocrinologist?” He doesn’t want to push Atsumu too far. He can’t really ever understand how it feels, but he can try to make it a bit easier. During these times, he’s nicer to Atsumu, and eases on the teasing. He’s not sure if he can do much else, but it’s the small things that count, right?
“Nah. Nothin’ at all,” Atsumu says, grabbing a handful of squares and shoving them in his mouth.
Osamu hums. He’s not sure what else he can do, apart from asking “Do ya want more tea?”
“Yes please,” Atsumu replies, wiping the stray tears on his lashes, but pushing himself further into Osamu.
“…ya gonna have ta let me up for that, ya scrub, not lean into me more,” he whispers, though there’s no spite present in what he says.
Atsumu cautiously sits up, but before Osamu lifts himself off the ground, Atsumu jumps back onto him, engulfing him in a full, slightly weak but powerful hug.
“Thank ya, ‘Samu,” he mumbles. Osamu thinks he can hear light sniffling again.
Returning the hug and with a pat on Atsumu’s back, he replies, “No problem, ‘Tsumu,” and starts working around the kitchen again.
Sometimes, Miya Atsumu is forced out of bed, because it hurts. Everything hurts.
And sometimes, it’s harder to get out, but he can’t stay in.
But he knows it’s okay.
Because when Miya Atsumu is forced out of bed because it hurts, Miya Osamu will be right behind him with a mug of hot ginger tea.