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Everything hurts. Well, everything might be an exaggeration, but the stabbing pain in his stomach is bad enough that it might as well be everywhere. His eyes and throat hurt from trying not to cry, and his arms hurt from the tiny, red, crescent shaped marks left on his skin from digging his nails into them. His chest and back hurt too, for reasons he won’t acknowledge because it’s okay, it’s always okay, even when it’s decidedly not and surely admitting that he knows why his breaths are coming in short and his chest is aching means he knows he can fix it, but he won’t, he can’t.
His eyes prick with tears as another cramp has him curling into himself, and he tugs at the longer side of his messy red hair in an attempt to drown out the pain. He feels disgusting, dirty, and he knows he should go have a shower, or something, anything, but he’s as comfortable as he’s going to get here and moving will only make it worse.
By his side, his phone buzzes, and he winces as the light stabs into his eyes.
Tsumugi [9:27]
Good morning, Natsume-kun! Sorry I’m late today, I slept in haha
The typing symbol appears again, and it hits him that Tsumugi is going to catch on. He always does.
Tsumugi [9:27]
How are you?
(“Good morning” comes every day. “How are you” only comes around this time every month, and they both know Tsumugi isn’t being as discreet as he wants to be.)
fiNE
A lie. It’s easy to lie to Tsumugi, but not so easy to get him to believe it. Part of Natsume wants to take it back; part of Natsume wants to tell him to come over and bring snacks and they can watch movies all day with Natsume’s cats.
The other part of him wants to repeat that he’s fine, maybe firmer than before, but that’d just make it a big deal.
Tsumugi [9:28]
Are you sure?
Not to pry but it’s been a little under a month and you’ve seemed out of it lately...
Curse Tsumugi and his perception.
sorry
i shouldn’t have lied
He doesn’t bother using his usual speaking quirk over messages when he’s tired, and Tsumugi knows that.
Tsumugi [9:29]
I’ll be over in 10, try to get some sleep.
I love you
Sleep, huh? Taking a deep breath, Natsume closes his eyes and tries to focus on the sleepiness lingering in the back of his mind. Maybe if he ignores the pain, it’ll be easier. Breathe in for ten seconds and then out for ten, right? He inhales for one, two, three, four seconds, and then his chest is aching again and a sob catches in his throat and fresh tears are stinging at his eyes and he sort of wants to die.
Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, he drags a pillow to his chest, curls around it — his stomach cramps at the movement, and he bites a little too hard and has to swallow back the metallic taste of blood — and finally, finally lets himself cry. He hates himself, he hates his body and he hates his mind. His whole body shakes with broken sobs and ragged breaths, and it hurts, his head hurts and his eyes hurt and his chest hurts and his stomach hurts and for the millionth time today he wishes he could be normal. He cries until he doesn’t have the energy to cry anymore, and he curls tighter around his pillow and lets sleep take him.
When the world fades back in, there’s something warm near his stomach and a familiar melody being hummed above him. Opening one eye a crack — everything is sort of fuzzy and dark — he makes out a white and grey ball of fluff curled up beside him, and slowly reaches out to pet it.
“Hey,” says a familiar, gentle voice, and the humming comes to a stop. Fingers card through his hair where he messed it up earlier, the motions soothing enough that he can nearly forget the pain in his chest, the lingering ache in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Like shit; tired; like I wanna die.
He closes his eyes again.
“Better.” It’s slurred with sleep, and Tsumugi hums. It’s a half-truth; he feels infinitely better now that he isn’t alone. The pain doesn’t go away, but the thoughts seem to silence themselves when Tsumugi is around. When it’s just them, it’s not so bad if Natsume hates himself, because Tsumugi loves him enough to make up for it. And when it’s Tsumugi, Natsume loves him enough to make up for it.
(Natsume remembers promising Tsumugi, years ago — before they broke apart and long before they were able to stick themselves back together — that if it was ever too much to live for himself, then he could live for Natsume instead, and that he would love him enough for the both of them.)
(He was naive back then. They both were.)
“That’s good,” Tsumugi says gently, leaving a kiss on Natsume’s forehead. Most days, he wouldn’t allow this kind of affection, but today he lets his eyes flutter shut as Tsumugi’s lips touch his skin, lets himself reach for the older boy’s hand and cling to it like a lifeline every time another cramp has tears pricking at his eyes.
(He doesn’t really want to cry in front of Tsumugi, but he knows he will.)
“I brought some food,” Tsumugi says, and the mention of food makes Natsume realise how hungry he is. “If you can get changed, we can put on a movie and eat.”
Getting changed means moving, though, and he really, really doesn’t want to move.
(It also means taking off his binder, and although it isn’t physically difficult, it leaves his body on display, nothing left to hide behind.)
Sighing, Natsume pushes himself up in bed, trying his best to ignore the way it makes his stomach cramp. It’s been hours since he’s moved; all he did was wake up in the morning to that god awful realisation, drag himself to the bathroom — he cried when he saw, even though he already knew what was coming — and then back to bed.
Tsumugi takes his hand, rubbing slow circles on the back of it with his thumb. The gesture sort of makes him want to cry again; collapse in his boyfriend’s lap and let himself fall apart for once.
The few steps from his bed to his wardrobe are short, but today they feel unnecessarily long. Is it always this much effort to get out of bed?
(It isn’t, he knows, but maybe if he pretends he isn’t any worse on these days, he’ll start to believe it. It’s probably better to feel this bad, this tired every day than to be okay for a month and then suddenly drop to zero.)
The clothes he picks out are baggy enough that he can feel a little less disgusting in his own skin, and otherwise comfortable enough to fall asleep in if the pain were to let him. Tsumugi leaves him to change, and Natsume half wants to pull him back because he desperately wants the company. But he can’t, because the idea of someone he cares about, someone he loves seeing this body that shouldn’t have been his, this body that makes him want to curl up and sob and rip himself apart...
He doesn’t want to picture the look on Tsumugi’s face, even though deep down he knows all it’d be is pure love and concern. Somehow, that makes it worse — after all, how can anyone love this? How can anyone love him when he can’t even love himself?
Natsume keeps his eyes firmly shut as he takes off his binder, replacing it with a relatively tight sports bra and tugging a hoodie over his head before daring to open them. He hates the way he can feel the fabric against his chest where he can’t against his stomach, but if he adjusts it enough, it doesn’t feel quite as gross. His pyjama pants are replaced with loose tracksuit pants, and then he opens the door and falls forward into Tsumugi’s chest.
To his credit, the older boy stays silent, simply letting Natsume hug him, letting Natsume cling to the back of his shirt, and when Natsume finds himself trembling again, Tsumugi hugs him back, rocking them both back and forth in the doorway.
Wordlessly, Tsumugi takes his hand, leading him back to the bed. Natsume exhales, leaning heavily against the older boy’s side, and—
“Is that my hoodie?”
Tsumugi gestures to the garment with a smile, and Natsume finds his face heating up. “It’s mine nOW, SenpAI,” he mumbles, but Tsumugi merely laughs and rests his head on top of Natsume’s.
“Chocolate?”
Natsume nods, and Tsumugi reaches into a bag on the ground and pulls out a chocolate bar, splitting it in half and coaxing Natsume’s mouth open. He half wants to grab the chocolate and feed himself, but it’s a little nice to be looked after like this. His mouth tastes sweet after the first bite, the chocolate melting on his tongue, and maybe with enough cuddles and chocolate and sleep the pain will go away.
Sighing, Natsume closes his eyes, curling closer into Tsumugi’s side and burying his face in the crook of his neck, and he’s on the verge of drifting off, but—
“Thank you for letting me be here.”
Thank you for being here.
When Natsume wakes up for the third time today, he’s enveloped in a familiar warmth and steady puffs of air against the back of his neck.
“SenpAI? Are you awaKE?”
No response. Craning his neck to see the older boy without rearranging the arms around his waist, he sees Tsumugi’s eyes shut, a peaceful expression on his face.
Natsume can’t help the smile that spreads across his own face at the sight.
“Thank you, Tsumugi-niisan.”