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There were few things that Ryouta disliked about St. Pigeonation’s. He had interesting classmates and it was such an unexpected delight that Hiyoko was still allowed to attend their school despite not being a bird herself. The teachers were well learned, if somewhat eccentric at times. He was very indebted to the school for allowing somebirdie as sickly as him to attend and to receive the medical treatment that he needed. It was just unfortunate that the place he disliked the most happened to be the place he had to spend the most time in: the infirmary.
A hot, painful twist in his stomach that had lasted through all of their history class was what had brought Ryouta here, and it was only getting worse the longer he stayed. The medication that Dr Iwamine was giving him didn’t seem to help with the pain at all; instead, it seemed to fan the flames of it until he wanted to curl around himself and cry. He didn’t, though, because he thought that maybe that was exactly what Dr Iwamine wanted. He was, after all, disturbingly interested in Ryouta’s responses to pain.
He did not, however, expect to be grateful for his resolution not to give in to Dr Iwamine’s interests because of an unexpected visitor. He watched in bemused interest as the infirmary door opened dramatically and Shirogane Le Bel Sakuya, of all birds, swept in on a cloud of his own majestic pride, a small bundle of papers clutched by one wing and a bento box wrapped elaborately in blue and gold silk in the other. Sakuya paused in the doorway, his spectacular fantail feathers quivering with horror as he looked around at the infirmary. His gaze finally fell on Ryouta and he frowned as if Ryouta himself was responsible for whatever it was that had shocked him so.
“This is the hovel where we force Dr Iwamine to work? How unacceptable! How ordinary! A bird of his calibre deserves the best, not some ramshackle little closet hidden away. It’s shameful. It can’t stand, and I won’t allow it.”
“I think he likes it this way,” Ryouta said. He hadn’t expected a greeting from Sakuya, as everyone in their class had come to understand that Sakuya didn’t believe that the usual courtesies applied to him. “Haven’t you been here before?”
Sakuya looked affronted at the idea. “Certainly not! I’ve never been ill in my life. No disease would be so base as to try and touch a scion like myself.”
“I … don’t think it works like that,” Ryouta said, ignoring Sakuya’s implied insult that the reason why Ryouta was sick was because he was not nobility. Things like that came out of Sakuya’s beak much like most creatures breathed. Ryouta wasn’t sure that Sakuya even noticed he was saying it.
“You would think that,” Sakuya said, placing the bento box down on a nearby wheeled table. “But that is because you are both Japanese and ignorant. They don’t teach you anything properly here, I’ve found. Has there ever been a class where Nanaki is awake the entire time?”
Ryouta was unable to think of one. Is the doctor really the only bird he respects? It was certainly unexpected. While it was undeniable that Dr Iwamine was talented, he was also one of the most unsettling birds that Ryouta had ever met, with an aura of menace that was palpable. He respected Dr Iwamine, but only to the extent that one respects someone with the power of life or death over you and is very aware of it: with great caution and constantly looking for exits.
“I see by your silence that you agree with me, as you should,” Sakuya went on.
“Um,” Ryouta said, for lack of anything else to say that was not going to offend Sakuya. He felt too ill to argue with him just now. “If you’re not sick,” he added, “Are you here to see me?”
The idea itself seemed absurd. Sakuya had made it abundantly clear within a few days of his transfer to St. Pigeonation’s that he was not at all interested in his fellow classmates, outside of their treating him as he thought he deserved. Hiyoko had taken that as a challenge and had immediately decided to join the student council in order to rein in Sakuya’s impulses. Ryouta, being far less confrontational and also far busier with his multiple jobs and worrying about his mother, had elected to simply avoid him whenever possible.
“As the student council president, it is my duty to ensure that all students perform at their best during exams,” Sakuya said. Ryouta wondered what being a student council president was like in France, if this was how Sakuya conceptualized his duties. “It would be a terrible slight to my skills if you were to fail.” He gestured with the wing that was holding a small bundle of papers, before placing them on the same wheeled table as the bento box. “Here are your assignments.”
On the one hand, this did explain why Hiyoko had not come yet to bring Ryouta’s assignments to him. Normally when he was sick she would come down immediately after class and regale him about the events of the day, much as she had when they were younger and she would tell him at length about her hunter-gathering expeditions. He missed her bloodthirsty exaggerations, even if she was prone to making some absurd comparisons.
On the other hand, Sakuya doing this was odd. Did he like Hiyoko? Ryouta found himself uncertain if he liked that idea overly much. She had been his childhood friend ever since she rescued him, and he thought that she deserved someone less egocentric than Sakuya. However, he appreciated that Sakuya had very impressive plumage, which Ryouta couldn’t help but admire.
“Oh,” Ryouta said, and he tried not to sound disappointed. “Normally Hiyoko brings them if I’m sick.”
“She won’t have time,” Sakuya said, with complete confidence. “I have great plans for the student council this year and I cannot have the vice-president distracted by such mundanity. Instead, I shall bring them to you while you continue to suffer from your plebeian illness. You do bathe, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Ryouta said, clipping it short. He was trying to hide, unsuccessfully, his annoyance he felt at the idea of Sakuya monopolising Hiyoko’s time and the idea that Hiyoko would be agreeable to it. He wasn’t really sure which one annoyed him more. “Is the student council really that influential?”
“It isn’t. Yet. But that was because I was not here,” Sakuya said. “Previous presidents lacked vision. I do not suffer from such a flaw.”
Ryouta had to agree with that. There were many other flaws that Sakuya had instead. Still, there was something quite admirable about his sheer force of personality and the way in which he brought it to bear. He was clearly someone who had been raised from birth of the rightness of his actions, and he did not seem to experience the self-doubt that Ryouta sometimes experienced. Perhaps that was the difference between noblebirds and commoners.
“Also, I brought you lunch,” Sakuya said. “I heard that you suffer from a stomach complaint and the swill they serve at the cafeteria couldn’t possibly help. I arranged for my chef to prepare something for you.”
“Thank you,” Ryouta said, in great surprise. The homework, at least, could be attributable to Sakuya’s view of what a student council president was responsible for, but making arrangements with his personal staff was something Ryouta could never have expected.
Sakuya’s feathers ruffled in consternation and his beak clattered soundlessly. He visibly took a breath. “Do not think that I am doing this because I like you,” he said haughtily. “As I said, my performance as school council president would be adversely affected if one of the students in my own class failed his exams because he was unwell.”
“Still, that’s very kind of you,” Ryouta said.
“Humph,” Sakuya grumped. “I’ll be back to collect the box and your assignments later, so don’t waste my time by not having them ready.” He did not deign to wait for a reply or even an acknowledgement from Ryouta that he had heard Sakuya, instead sweeping out the door and closing it in one dramatic action.
Ryouta sighed, long and pained, before pulling the table over to himself. His stomach still felt like it held a red-hot coal inside it, but Sakuya’s gesture had been unexpectedly kind. Ryouta thought maybe he could eat some of what Sakuya had brought while working on his assignments. It was, after all, something to do that wasn’t feeling ill or suspecting that Dr Iwamine did not have his best interests at heart.