Chapter Text
Shou’s hair is ginger.
Which is a rather stupid thought to have because Ritsu already knows that. Every student in this high school knows that. Everybody who’s seen Shou at least once knows that.
Shou actually had it trimmed again last month to welcome the sweltering heat of the summer, but by now it’s already begun to take on more volume to almost pass as fluffy. In a bouncy way maybe. Ritsu’s never really checked the physics of his hair firsthand.
Too weird for someone like him to do.
The best he can do is admire it from a distance, which is honestly all he can ever do when Shou has to sit two columns away.
Whatever trace of rationality Ritsu has only wishes this hadn’t come at the cost of zoning out in the middle of history class. It just happened to have caught his attention when Shou was called to read a paragraph. He’s been struggling to look away since.
Shou’s hair is ginger. Ritsu can’t stress it enough. It’s as orange as the setting sun, mesmerizing like the first second of fall. Definitely nothing short of resplendent either, and it only grows all the more splendid when it catches the light from the windows behind him.
It brings him an odd sense of inner peace, though his heartbeat tells an entirely different story when Shou turns to look back at him. It takes every ounce of his energy to keep his panic from reaching his facial muscles.
Shou doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he have a single clue as to how long he’s actually been looking on in secret.
Ritsu very clearly watches the surprise on Shou’s expression melt away into a casual grin as he waves.
Ritsu can only frown back.
Finally, with a quiet goodbye to a long gone peaceful moment, he rips his gaze away from Shou, dreadfully returning his attention to the steady drone of their teacher’s voice and the occasional shriek of the chalk when it strikes the blackboard.
The beginnings of a headache prickle behind his eyes. There's only an hour and a half left to sit through before club.
Ritsu simply tries not to fall asleep.
* * *
Something tickles the back of his throat. Ritsu doesn’t think he can ignore it anymore.
He’s been managing with a periodical flush of water since he first took notice in bed this morning, thinking it would be the first onset of a sore throat and it would go away for as long as he kept rehydrating, but it only seemed to work less and less over the course of time.
They’re in the school gardens by the vending machines when Shou first mentions it. “You’re clearing your voice again,” he notes, suspiciously lifting a brow. “You good?”
“Throat feels a little off,” Ritsu grumbles. He has to swallow twice and wet his voice box before he can attempt speaking again, long enough for Shou’s potato chips to hit the pick-up box with a crunchy fall.
“School festival’s comin’ up, too,” Shou reminds good-naturedly, but his words drop to Ritsu’s stomach like shrapnel either way. “Yikes. Bad time to call in sick. Drink anything cold recently?”
“Dad brought home ice cream last night. Leftovers from an office party. Might be that.”
“Ah.”
Ritsu forces out a weak, manual cough when Shou bends to grab his order. “Think I’ll pay a quick trip to the infirmary for a pill. I’ll see you back at class?”
Shou only offers him a facetious salute. “See ya, Prez.”
Ritsu almost hesitates when he hears the response, it leaves a taste in his mouth, sour and strangely unfamiliar, embellished by the inexplicable pang that strikes at his heartstrings, and he's yet to understand why. But before he can rouse Shou's concern a second time that day, he quickly turns on his heel to leave.
He doesn't need Shou to accompany him wherever he goes.
Ritsu wonders why this is all he can ever think about as he enters the next building.
He doesn't understand why he has to suddenly justify that to himself.
Mid-thought, the tickle suddenly spikes into irritation, it stirs him from a developing spiral so abruptly his head goes light and he has to pause in his step. Ritsu quickly produces a handkerchief from his pocket to cough into. The sound is loud and sharp and dry, it hurts, as if the air from his lungs had made sure to abrade the path on its way out.
Two sophomores pass by him with a wave. Not knowing what body parts to move yet with his hands both busy, he returns the gesture with a small nod.
He inconveniently had to stop in the middle of a semi-busy hallway leading to the cafeteria.
Far from wanting any more attention to himself, Ritsu decides to press the handkerchief against his mouth throughout the rest of the walk, his head dipped, his mind wandering toward an alternate timeline where Shou stubbornly says no to the suggestion of parting, where Ritsu says something else entirely, or—
Whatever.
* * *
Ritsu wakes up in the middle of the night choking on his own saliva.
The aspiration is electricity arcing through his body, disrupting his rest in one go, and positioning him instantly into fight or flight. The coughing fit doesn’t stop, even as he slams his chest as hard as he can over and over and over, he’d break a rib before he can learn how to breathe properly again.
His inhales rapidly shorten, desperate for air but unable to compensate for the loss. Whatever little oxygen that makes it to his lungs is poison and nothing but, filling his eyes with tears ‘til all he can make out around him are wet, distorted shapes, his chest hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...
Ritsu coughs again, this time more harrowing, banging his sternum with a closed and solid fist.
Something suddenly dislodges itself from his throat, and it rests upon his tongue when Ritsu attempts to breathe again, the needless sickly taste permeates his mouth and provokes his gag reflex without missing a beat.
Ritsu kicks out of his sheets to blindly run to the bathroom.
He doesn’t make it to the sink.
Ritsu fumbles so much with the knob, he stumbles onto the cold marble floor when he finally manages to swing the door open. The surprise instinctively cracks his lips apart when he falls, and he moves, he tries to, some pathetic attempt thinking he could catch himself but he doesn’t, and all he can do is close his eyes as he dreadfully waits for his body to drop.
The pain erupts almost immediately from his ribs and elbows.
As soon as he strikes the ground, Ritsu sputters like he’d just crawled out of a pool, expelling the remnants of water in his lungs in between wheezes. His spittle makes a mess only an infant should be capable of making. But two more coughs and he can breathe .
He can breathe.
He can breathe.
The relief brings back the water to his eyes. He has to screw them tight to keep himself from sobbing then and there.
He regrets it instantly when he opens them again.
Dollops of orange dot the surface where Ritsu should have regurgitated. Among them, relatively larger than those around it sits a crumpled piece of… something.
Tissue is the first thought Ritsu has.
Is that what it is…?
He rakes his mind for a memory that could constitute to this. Whatever it is.
He skipped dinner tonight on account of him not feeling well. He had a rice ball for lunch. He doesn't even remember the last time he'd ever eaten a carrot.
Suddenly the taste makes itself known again upon acknowledgment, the ghost of the bitterness that now haunts him and reinvades his tongue and his eyes can only ever fly wide open in response. It takes him back to the multiple summer camping trips his parents used to take him and his brother to. Moments when he would investigate the nearby bushery with Shigeo, moments he'd trip over tree roots and laugh the dirt off of his face. The smell of freshly cut grass has never been more all-encompassing.
Dread coats each and every one of his thoughts when it finally dawns on him.
They’re flower petals.
As if on cue, he spits another one that clings wetly to his lips, and it joins the rest of its shredded companions on the tiles, imbued in his saliva.
Instinctively a hand claws at his mouth, grasping at it in what could only ever mean the full intention of ripping it off.
Ritsu can only look on in horror.
* * *
It’s a Friday morning when Ritsu first loses his appetite. And he thought he was going to get away with it until his mother catches up to him at the doorway.
“You’re leaving already?"
"Meeting," Ritsu replies apologetically.
She sighs in defeat. She knows she can't argue as soon as Ritsu pulls out the student council card.
"Did you at least drink something warm?"
"I did."
He did not.
"Make up for it over lunch then," his mother chides again.
"I will."
He will not.
Well. He hopes he will, but the chances are too little for him to count on.
Ritsu doesn't waste another second for her to figure out the lies he weaves for himself. He slips out without garnering too much suspicion, and a sigh of relief escapes him as soon as the front door clicks closed.
Two blocks later, where he's certain there's no one nearby to spot him, Ritsu stops in his tracks to produce a face mask from a bag pocket, quickly ringing the straps around his ears and pulling it on in some odd, dignified fashion.
Coughing up flowers.
Ritsu huffs.
This is the stupidest thing he's ever had to experience.
He readjusts the mask, pinching the wire, and fixing it upon the bridge of his nose so it follows the crevices of his face.
At least now if he ever happens to spit out another petal… well.
At least nobody has to know.
* * *
Student council was postponed to the afternoon because most of the members (also see: anyone but himself ) couldn't make it due to personal reasons and pre-appointed class routines. Ritsu had to find out the hard way.
His secretary comes fifteen minutes after their scheduled meeting time, only to find Ritsu alone at the end of the conference table, overlooking the eerily quiet of an empty room. He can only imagine how sad it is to walk in on that.
"Ah, Kurosaki-san," he greets warmly. There is no smile that accompanies it, though it shouldn't matter with the mask on. "We can wait for another person to come in, and perhaps we can call the meeting to order?"
Kurosaki only looks at her with an expression half-dazed and half-concerned, as if he were the most pitiful street child she's ever seen in her life. "I was… actually just here to pick up some of the clubs' reports a-and… I wasn't expecting to see you here at all today, Kageyama-kun. Did you check the GC—?"
He didn't.
Ritsu hasn't taken out his phone from his bag since he got home yesterday. The multitude of missed messages that greet him as soon as he does is a testament to his absence online.
He tries not to click his tongue.
Or at least, in a manner that reaches Kurosaki’s ears.
Ritsu tries for another smile, more stilted than the last, nodding at her once in acknowledgment. “Thanks for letting me know.”
With all honesty, Ritsu probably would have been less embarrassed if she burst out laughing.
But alas, the world isn’t kind enough to grant him even one measly favor.
Just like that, with the atmosphere as awkward and taut as it can possibly be, her eyes filled with needless sympathy and compassion, one more nod in return and Kurosaki leaves. The student council room is quiet again.
Ritsu counts three more beats before his eyes can tear from the doorframe.
He casts his gaze on his phone instead.
Nothing much to do so early in-campus. If it puts his mind at ease…
Ritsu sighs.
May as well.
His fingers fly across his screen, navigating mindlessly to a search engine, and the letters come into view across the tab.
orange flowers
He almost scoffs at how stupid the keywords are.
Then again, it was much sillier to think that someone like Ritsu could ever have hanahaki.
* * *
"Are we still on for tomorrow?"
"Mm."
"You sure?"
"Mm."
Shou throws his head to the side. "Why are you so pissy today?" A beat later and a small smile tugs on either end of his lips. "Say mm one more fucking time, I dare you."
"I'm not pissy," Ritsu insists, glaring like it's supposed to prove a point.
"Yeah," Shou scoffs, "and I'm the prime minister.”
Ritsu only rolls his eyes and says nothing more as he shuffles his notebooks and slides the stack into his desk compartment. And once everything’s settled, with his textbooks arranged and clutter to a minimum, he lifts his head, lifts his eyes, catching Shou slipping into the seat in front of him. Sitting like the chair were a horse as he loosely embraces the backrest.
“This is the point where you tell me what’s wrong maybe.” Shou quirks a brow, but the confusion suffused in his tone isn’t enough to wipe off the grin across his face. “Just a suggestion.”
“Again,” Ritsu grimaces, “there’s nothing wrong.”
“Right. You can start with explaining why you have a mask today.”
“Can I not wear masks when I feel?”
“You can, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell me why you suddenly felt like you needed one. Is it your cold—?”
“I don’t have to tell you everything, Shou,” Ritsu hisses and cuts him off. The irritation built up in his lungs flickers through his system, whizzing like the ascent of a firecracker as it zips into the night sky.
Across his desk, Shou only looks at him, unfazed if not for the twitch that tugs his lips into a straight, tight line. “Gee, I’m sorry for asking such a personal question.”
Ritsu’s suddenly unable to look him in the eye. Whatever rage he’d felt a while back dissipates immediately, transmuting into the quiver at the tips of his fingers, the rock that forms at the back of his throat. He forces himself to swallow. Only at the price of the thin layer of water in his eyes.
But the weight betrays him and it settles in his chest instead.
Ritsu’s chair grinds with an awful sound when he pushes it back to stand. Without a moment to lose he makes a beeline for the door, weaving thoughtlessly around classmates and empty desks alike.
Shou cries after him, something along the lines of having lunch. Ritsu mutters some stupid excuse about having left something at the council office and he disappears down the hall, to the direction of the nearest bathroom.
The color that pigments the flowers he grows meant joy, of all things.
Ritsu’s bitterly reminded of that as he stares down the petal he spat onto the sink. He quickly flushes it down the drain before anyone else could see.
He finally turns to face himself in the mirror, wiping haphazardly at his own face and fixing his mask. Once he regains composure he can march back into the classroom like nothing happened.
Once he regains composure.
Ritsu just hadn’t expected to cry.