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The dorm room is stuffy when Mudano’s eyes snap open. His mouth feels uncomfortably dry and his bangs are plastered to his face with sweat. He squints at the ceiling, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Trying to figure out why it feels like his skin is crawling and there’s eyes in the corners watching his every move. He lets his eyes slide close again, taking a handful of steadying breaths to ground himself even if they stick to the back of his throat and make ribs hurt. He doesn’t feel any better when he finally sits up, but he doesn’t feel as unsafe as he had a moment ago. He handles another round of sticky breaths, unable to keep his eyes closed for long throughout it because of images from his dreams starting to dance behind the lids.
He rubs at his face with a sigh, trying to focus on his surroundings as the prickly feeling of his skin settles. It’s during this that he processes that the room is completely silent. He lets a few moments pass before quickly climbing off the top bunk, bare feet hitting the cold ground harsher than they usually do. Masumi’s bed is empty, the blankets a mess as usual but missing the curled up ball of his boyfriend and roommate. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, trying to calm his nerves and keep the bad thoughts from crawling to the front of his mind.
This isn’t anything like his dream, he has to remind himself of that fact. He’s in the living space of the school he attends which is far from the battlefield he had vividly seen and felt and heard in his sleeping state. There’s no momos attempting to kill him; at this moment at least. He isn’t covered in blood and Masumi isn’t being held loosely in his arms, as he had been before he woke up. There is no battle raging, which means they are as safe as they can get and Masumi is not fatally bleeding out right in front of him.
But it is still unusual for his bed to be empty at this hour. Or if it was, it was typically because he had climbed up their bunk to shove his way into Mudano’s arms and hold him in a death grip in his sleep. He would then deny that vulnerability the next day and he would let it go easily, not wanting to further upset the wavering scales of the other’s emotions. Him taking a shower or bath is off the table, as he is fussy about only doing tasks like that in the mornings. He never really woke up for the bathroom and it’s clear that isn’t where he is because of how cold his sheets are as Mudano runs a hand across the fabric.
He bites down on his bottom lip, trying his best to think about where he could be at this hour. They weren’t really on strict lockdowns past certain times, but it wasn’t common for the students to be up late anyways. He looks towards the door of their room, registering that Masumi’s shoes are missing. It takes a moment before he makes his own way towards the exit, slipping on his casual shoes as he quietly enters the hallway. He’s put together where the other oni has disappeared to and it turns his stomach. The shorter one had taken up a habit of overworking himself constantly, always pushing his body to limits that left him immobilized the following day. He understands wanting to grow stronger and advance in one’s talents, but the way that Masumi was approaching the idea was increasingly unhealthy.
It’s a quick trip to the training room that the other frequents, seeing as it’s the one they don’t regularly use. Masumi says he chose it because he doesn’t want to infringe on other people’s training regimes, but Mudano knows the truth of the matter. Which lies in the bloodstains that litter the room’s floor, puddles that weren’t cleaned up fast enough for any number of reasons such as the oni passing out or just being far too weak to clean his messes. He’s had to carry him back to their room far too often, worrying over his limp body and sickly pale face. It was a subject they walked on eggshells about, neither wanting to bring up the effect it was having.
“Fuck,” he hears the curse as he nears the doorway, followed by a coughing fit and the distinct splat of blood hitting the floor. He gives Masumi a moment to catch his breath before making his presence known with a soft knock on the frame. The shorter oni’s head whips to look at him and then he groans, looking away as he wipes the blood from his mouth and nose. It doesn’t do much, as a slow trickle from his nostril continues its journey.
“How long have you been at this?,” he asks and Masumi shrugs. Mudano takes account of the small pools of blood and frowns as he enters the room. The other wipes his nose again, his efforts still fruitless. He looks ready to keel over, complexion a sickly pale and face grey with fatigue.
“Long enough,” he finally answers and the taller sighs, sidestepping a puddle before he finally stands beside him. Masumi takes a moment, clenching his fists at his side before leaning against Mudano ever so slightly. His hand automatically moves to the other’s waist as he gives up and slumps against him.
“You can’t keep doing this.,” He frowns at the blood now dripping off of his chin, the other nostril steadily bleeding now. Masumi huffs, staring blankly at the ground. He tries to get him to look up with a light squeeze to his side but he just closes his eyes instead. They stand in a tense silence as the effects of working his body past its limits catches up to him.
“That’s rich coming from you,” he mumbles, “Not everyone is as perfect as our star student.,” Mudano holds back a sigh, processing his words carefully. It’s been a recurring theme for Masumi lately; to compare himself to the taller oni. He doesn’t understand the bitterness that comes from him. They’re not the same because of their bodies abilities, not because of what he can do compared to the shorter.
“That doesn’t mean that you should try to kill your-”
“I need to be better.,” He looks up at him at last, tears brimming in his wide eyes as his mouth quivers. Mudano’s quick to bring his free hand up to wipe his eyes before cradling his cheek. He’ll wipe his face in a moment, intent on catching the other before he falls into one of his pits.
“You’re already more than enough. You’ve gotten yourself to eight minutes, Masu. You’ve gotten yourself to eight minutes and the more you push the more you aren’t going to be able to recover yourself. You need to take a break, to stop holding yourself to these impossible standards,” he catches a stray tear with his thumb. The arm that isn’t pressed into his side from where he leans into him comes up to grip at Mudano’s shirt. He can’t place the emotions that are flitting through Masumi’s eyes. It bothers him, but it isn’t something he can deal with right now. “I held you in my nightmare tonight, as you died because you couldn’t hold your own against a momo. You’re stronger than you think, but if you keep doing this you won’t be anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Masumi whispers. Mudano shakes his head minutely, using the long sleeve of his shirt to wipe the blood off his chin as best he can,
“Don’t be sorry. I just worry about you,” he tilts the other’s head up, hoping Masumi can see all the words he struggles to say in his eyes, “I love you too much to lose you like this.” The shorter tightens his grip, tears falling as steadily as the blood from his nose.
“I love you too.,” They stare at each other before Mudano presses a chaste kiss to his lips, ignoring the coppery taste as he kisses his forehead too. They have so much more they need to talk about, things they’ve been avoiding for a while. For now he urges Masumi into his arms, to carry him back to their room where he’ll clean him up before pulling them both into the bottom bunk to hold him until he’s sure the other is asleep. Where he himself won’t sleep, the ever present fear of losing him gnawing at his mind.