Chapter Text
"Hey, um, Miyuki," Sawamura whispers. It’s three in the morning, and he’s standing at Miyuki’s window. Someone had cracked it open to invite cool night air into the cabin. None of their cabins are air-conditioned. It sucks.
Kuramochi tosses in his bed and mumbles a drowsy "go away, Sawamura."
“I wasn’t even talking to you,” Sawamura hisses back grumpily, his irritation stemming from embarrassment. Because knocking at Miyuki’s window late at night like a Romeo who can’t bother to dress the part (he is wearing shower slippers and pajamas he’s owned since middle school) is very embarrassing. His desperation has to be oozing off of him. Although, he isn’t lovesick. He is just sick, and Miyuki puts his phone on “do not disturb” at night like a jackass.
Thankfully, Kuramochi's sleepy rustling subsides promptly. The ensuing silence is interrupted by a soft creak. The rustling of sheets. Then quiet footsteps pad to the window. The moonlight casts gentle lighting on a figure as it approaches, dancing on the curves of a wrist, arm, forehead, and, finally, the crooked smile on Miyuki's lips. He had put on his glasses, and Sawamura's heart warms that Miyuki would get all the way up for him.
"What's the matter?" Miyuki asks, ducking to talk through the crack in the window. Their lips would almost touch if Sawamura also leaned over the crack to talk.
"Do you mind coming outside?" Sawamura asks.
"Sure, sure," Miyuki replies lightly. Sawamura watches the moonlight cast flickering shadows on his skin as he walks away from the window's direct light and behind the door to toe on his slippers. With hypnotic grace, Miyuki opens and closes the door silently.
Sawamura loves to worship Miyuki by cataloging the small details. If Miyuki became a deity, Sawamura could fill a holy tome full of praise to set on the altar for pilgrims from far and wide to behold.
"Thanks," Sawamura says. A chipper note rings in his voice. "I was wondering if you could help me find the first aid kit."
"You don't-" Miyuki sighs. His head ducks and bobs slightly as he inspects Sawamura. "How do you not know where the first aid kit is? You're in your second year."
Sawamura plays with the wispy hairs on the back of his neck and grimaces at Miyuki. “I know, I know.”
Miyuki rolls his eyes. They sparkle with some glittering emotion, so Sawamura is willing to bet that he’s more amused than irritated. "Come on,” he says as he leads Sawamura toward the cafeteria. When they pass under one of the stadium lights, Miyuki takes the chance to look at Sawamura in better lighting. "You okay?" He stalls.
Sawamura stalls, too, and smiles, if only because Miyuki looks disheveled in a sweet, almost cute way. Something about seeing Miyuki's hair, fluffy from his pillow, cast in a warm yellow light makes Sawamura want to be happy. He's been really sad lately. "Yeah, yeah," he reassures, smile stuck to his lips as he speaks. "I just need an antacid or something."
Miyuki swipes at Sawamura's bangs. "You're ridiculous. That's not going to be in the first aid kit. But I have the keys for the medicine cabinet, so you ultimately came to the right place, I guess. How do you always get the right answer with the wrong equation?"
Sawamura rearranges his bangs, trying to cool the skin that Miyuki had brushed and set on fire. He laughs, somewhat honored.
"So, does your tummy hurt?" Miyuki picks up the pace.
"Kind of," Sawamura says. "I uh- threw up, earlier. It's more, just, nausea." He anticipates Miyuki's line of questioning. "In the toilet! And, I cleaned the bowl with disinfectant, and everything. Just like you taught me from last time."
"Good," Miyuki decrees. "Last time was nightmare fuel."
Sawamura had never gotten severely ill before Seidou, so he never learned where to vomit and how to clean it up. Recently, he'd started to have episodes of nausea once a month. If he didn't relieve himself, it was torture, so he always went to puke.
Tonight, throwing up had not fixed the nausea, and his eye had started cramping, which was bullshit.
Sawamura had tried to use antacids to help, even though he technically should consult the nurse about taking anything, according to the rules. However, if he admitted to getting sick every month, he would definitely get benched because the nausea has nothing to do with being sick. It’s somehow related to his recovery from the yips. As in, his recovery from the yips might be conditional on this cyclically-occuring nausea, or he might have to credit this nausea for his recovery from the yips. Whatever the truth is, it’s a damning assessment of him. What kind of ace has to puke before a game in order to pull off inside pitches without freaking out?
"Antacids?" Miyuki double-takes. "For nausea?"
Sawamura curses himself for letting that slip. Truthfully, he'd bought the wrong thing at the pharmacy, but he had liked the taste of the antacids so much, he'd just kept taking them. They tasted like candies, and, sometimes, sucking on them at night worked a placebo effect. Sawamura has been doing this for months now, and he’s in too deep to suddenly stop. To suddenly stop would force him to admit that he’s been doing something dangerous, and what the hell is he supposed to do with that information when he’s been doing that dangerous thing for months? Tell someone? Seek help? In other words, lose his shot at ace by admitting that he’s a freak who self-medicates with fucking Tums? Yeah, that is Ace Material, right there.
"Oh, yeah," Sawamura laughs. "Sorry. I meant anti-nausea medication."
"This is why I have the keys to the medicine cabinet," Miyuki mutters under his breath. He looks concerned, but he doesn’t seem to have the energy to beat Sawamura up about it at three in the morning.
Sawamura looks down at his feet, dutifully playing the part of a chastised kouhai who realizes how he is wrong and is going to change. "Thanks for, um, your help," Sawamura says before he stops himself, his voice slightly watery. His emotions always reach a fever pitch during his nauseous nights, and it feels so good to have someone accompanying him at a time when he’s usually alone with his discomfort. That can’t be a coincidence, either, can it? That his stomach and emotions always fuck up at the same time?
Miyuki gives Sawamura a confused look. “Uh,” he says. “Duh.” He loops his arm around Sawamura’s elbow and steers him to the cafeteria a little faster.
When they arrive, Sawamura beelines for a chair. Miyuki notes this and bustles around on his own. He disappears and reappears a couple of times, depositing his findings on the table one by one. A key. An empty glass. A plastic tub of medicine. The empty glass disappears. It reappears, filled with water.
Sawamura rummages in the tub in a daze. He feels like a rabid hyena pouncing on the first scrap of bone that it has found in days. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? He eyes the medicine tub, wondering if it's too risky to reach for the painkillers. He doesn’t want to prompt questions.
Miyuki peers at Sawamura. "Hm? What is it?"
Sawamura's eye socket flares with a hot tightness, like someone's tied a knot with his eye at the center of it. They keep pulling and pulling, tightening the knot with each successive tug. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to squeeze out the tension like it’s pus from a bulging pimple.
"Does your head hurt?" Miyuki asks again, more urgently. His hands hover around Sawamura's forearms, about to pry them apart and take a look.
Sawamura decides to admit to having a headache.
Miyuki procures painkillers from the tub. "Is this serious? You look really pale."
This checks out with Sawamura, who thinks he's probably cut off circulation to half of his face. He takes the painkillers before answering. "It's not a virus or anything. I'm definitely not contagious."
Miyuki looks at him.
Sawamura explains that it's a monthly thing but tries to downplay the details. They have a game today.
Nausea flares in his stomach again.
"Anyways," Sawamura looks up. He forces a bright smile. "I might chill in here for a bit. You can go back first if you need to."
Miyuki says something about leaving together, but Sawamura has decided to rest his head on the table. He closes his eyes, the lighting in the cafeteria aggravating despite how Miyuki’s only turned on a few lights. Miyuki will probably leave him alone since he’s sent hints, and Miyuki is good at taking those. Assuming he’ll be alone soon, he lets his eyes water to release the tension he holds in his body.
Sawamura knows, rationally, that the pain will pass, but he has to pass through every moment until then. He’s never sure if he can do it. He's not tough or strong or built to survive. His yips phase made that clear. At the same time, he’s grateful for his monthly dates with the toilet bowl. What’s the saying? The shorter the candle, the warmer the flame?
When the nausea begins to subside and his eyes start adjusting better to light, Sawamura forces himself to go back to bed. He peels his hands away from his eyes, blinking away the noise in his vision. When it clears, he sees Miyuki sitting diagonally from him. He’s not looking at him. Instead, Miyuki looks pensive, eyes running over the pictures on the walls and the tiles on the ceiling.
Sawamura’s not sure how to disturb Miyuki’s reverie, or if he wants to. Miyuki rarely shows authentic emotion unless it’s a positive or constructive one.
“Oh,” Sawamura says, like he just lifted his head and hasn’t been creepily staring for a minute. “Thanks for staying up.”
Miyuki's eyes land on Sawamura suddenly. “Yeah, of course.” He looks sleepy, but he doesn’t seem irritated.
“I’m heading back,” Sawamura announces. “Are you?” He smiles, four hundred watts, just for Miyuki. The dim lighting should do the rest to hide the red around his eyes.
Miyuki stands to go. “Yeah, we have to rest.”
Sawamura stands, pausing to let the ocean of black noise splashing in his eyes dissipate. After Sawamura has to resort to stabilizing himself on the table, Miyuki taps his shoulder lightly. “Sorry, sorry,” Sawamura says quickly. “I’m good.” He takes a step, unable to see anything through the noise, and another.
“Are you going to faint?” Sawamura can hear the smile on Miyuki’s lips. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“What?” Sawamura barks. He whips his head in Miyuki’s direction. “You, an old man with a bad back? Carry me? I couldn’t possibly allow that in good conscience.” The noise clears just enough for Sawamura to make out the outline of the door frame. He miraculously survives the journey to the door, and opens it for Miyuki, lips flicking upwards. “Instead, I should be opening doors for my senpai.”
Miyuki struts through the open door. “This is nice. Very nice. I wish this treatment wasn’t such a rare occurrence.”
Sawamura looks up at Miyuki from where he’s in a slight butler’s bow, and Miyuki turns his head slightly to meet Sawamura’s eyes. “Me too,” Sawamura says so quietly he almost mouths it.
Miyuki’s eyes grow wide. “Hm?”
Sawamura’s dart away. “I said: damn, you’re so slow. Nobody’s gonna open doors for you if you walk through them like a turtle. Old man.”
Miyuki clears the path of the door fully, and Sawamura lets it fall shut with a soft clamor.
Sawamura inhales. “Actually, I said, ‘me too.’”
"I know," Miyuki says. "I heard you the first time."
They walk back to Miyuki's room in silence. When they arrive, Sawamura faces the other fully and smiles. “Thank you for helping me tonight. I- um. I’ll just.” Sawamura opens the door to Miyuki’s room for him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Miyuki smiles, and it doesn’t look coy or teasing or like anything Sawamura would expect from him. Sawamura actually has no idea what that smile is trying to say. “No problem. Night.”
When Sawamura crashes in bed a few minutes later, he still feels shitty, but he somehow doesn’t feel as bad, in a general sense, if that makes any sense at all. That's when he realizes that a more effective, much cheaper, and less dangerous placebo than the one he's been using had been sitting in front of Sawamura all along. Oh, the irony.