just some guy

He wouldn’t say that he’s sick. Not sick enough to call out of work, not sick enough to skip class. Really, it’s barely a cold at all, and this is the only day that all of Summer Troupe was available to run through the action scenes for their upcoming production. He’d arranged to help them out with this weeks ago, and a headache and some stupid sniffles weren’t nearly enough to stop him from making it work. 

Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal, but from the way that Omi reacted to him this morning, you’d think that he was dying or something.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he’d asked, eyeing Banri suspiciously across the kitchen counter. He wasn’t even making breakfast this morning, so Banri’s got no clue idea why he was even hovering out here like some sort of anxious parent. Okay, well. He does know the answer to why he’s doing that, but it doesn’t mean he should be in the kitchen judging Banri’s health at fuck-off o’clock in the morning.

“Just peachy,” he smiles wryly, “exactly like the last five times y’asked the same question.”

“I’m not trying to pester you,” Omi sighs. “Don’t push yourself, alright?”

Banri rolls his eyes. He’s fine. He’s an adult who can watch after himself, and he’s not going to argue with Omi’s baseless concerns when he still hasn’t had breakfast. He already has enough of a headache without picking a needless fight—not a headache because he’s sick or anything, he just hasn't had any caffeine yet. Really. As soon as he’s had some coffee he’s sure he’ll be fine.

Classes are fine. He doesn’t remember anything from that, but it’s not like that’s ever hurt him before. He’s not like Hyodo or Tenma that has to listen to lectures fully and study the notes afterwards, he’ll just skim the slides before exams in a few weeks.

As he makes his way back to the dorms, he starts to feel like the day is dragging. His feet feel heavy, and even after food and water and caffeine, his head still aches, his ears popping every time he swallows. One of his classmates that takes the same train line home asks him if he’s doing alright, and Banri nods, the words he says after the question going completely fuzzy in his head, barely even processing as he tries to carry on a conversation while they stand on the platform.

All he has to do once he gets back is the Summer Troupe rehearsals. That’s all he has left to do, and then he can go lay down and sleep off this headache. It’s been such a pain in the ass to arrange Summer Troupe’s schedules to get them all in the same place at the same time. Between Tenma’s filming schedules, Kazunari’s class schedule and additional commissions, Misumi’s erratic part time jobs, and his own class, work, and rehearsals, this was the first day in weeks that they were all properly available to do this. No matter how sick he is, he absolutely cannot bail on them.

Not that he’s even really that sick. It’s probably just the stuffy air in the train.

Back in his room, he goes to change into practice clothes, but the siren song of laying down just for a bit is too much for him to resist.

He’s got time, anyway. They aren’t even supposed to rehearse for another two hours. Just a quick nap, and then he’ll be completely prepped to work with Summer Troupe. A nap to sleep off the headache and he'll be fine.

~0~

When Banri wakes up, he feels like he’s been run over by a motorcycle—no, make that a whole ten motorcycles. His head throbs and his eyes water and every muscle in his body aches as he comes into consciousness, he can hardly breathe and his sinuses burn any time he moves his head.

“Fuck this,” he groans into his pillow, incomprehensible. His voice rasps as he speaks, and he winces at the feeling. Why today of all days?

He really needs to get up and join Summer Troupe. And maybe take some medication. And drink some water or something because his throat aches every time he swallows. There’s any number of things that he could do right now to make himself feel better, and about thirty things he can think of that he would rather be doing than feeling like this, but his pillows are calling him, and would it really be so bad to just lay back down? His head wouldn’t feel so heavy if he did that, and he can’t imagine anything worse than trying to clamor down the ladder from his bed while he feels like this.

Groaning again, he rolls onto his back, the light stinging his eyes. Summer Troupe. He has to help with Summer Troupe. Just that and then he can go back to sleep.

He moves to sit up, but the sound of the latch on the door alerts him instead, and rather than getting up, he finds himself looking over the railing. It’s not like he doesn’t know who’s coming in, but he’d prefer to spare himself the humiliation of letting Hyodo see him so miserable and debating even getting up.

Hyodo fusses with the paper bags he brought back, not even acknowledging Banri at first. They’re pretty nice, some sort of name brand store, but Banri would bet he just bought socks   or something. As if Hyodo would ever really put money into his appearance—he’s really squandering his build with that face and those clothes.

He sets the bags aside onto his desk (not put away, of course) and drops his schoolbag by the wall. It’s only after this that he looks up to see Banri watching him. He looks normal for all of two seconds before a weird look crosses his face, making Banri’s stomach twist in a way he doesn’t like–but that’s just the cold, surely.

“Are you okay?”

Banri rolls his eyes. “Why does–” his voice cracks on the vowel–”everyone keep asking me that?”

“Y’ look like shit, Settsu.” He definitely walked right into that answer, but it doesn’t stop him from glowering at the response.

Banri huffs. At this point, he should just leave, and let Banri be alone with his pain and suffering. He didn’t ask for company anyway, but instead of this, Hyodo steps forward and reaches out to him, putting the back of his knuckles onto his forehead. It’s a flip of the script he wasn’t expecting, and he almost snaps at him for it. The only time he wants his hands on him is in a good and proper fight.

Except–

Well–

His fingers feel so very cold on Banri’s clammy and overheated skin. With brows furrowed, he brushes the hair away from Banri’s face, smoothing it down the same way he always does to Kumon or Muku when they’re sick or have just come inside from a windy day. It looks stiff and fussy from the outside—Banri has said as much aloud—but being on the other side of it is surprisingly nice. It’s steadying and full of concern, the same anxiety that makes Hyodo so insecure about everything also is this: unwavering personal interest and worry over those around him. 

On a normal day, Banri would swat his hand away, complain that he's not a child. He's older, after all, and doesn't need to be babied even when he's sick. But as it stands, his head is still killing him, and his body feels like he was knocked flat on his ass from a fight, and the soothing touch isn't something he can find it in himself to stop.

Hyodo sighs and pulls his hand away, and Banri bites back the protest on the tip of his tongue.

"I'll tell Summer Troupe you aren't coming," he says, the decision made for him.

It takes a moment to process the words. "Wait--" he sits upright and his head goes spinning, feeling like someone drove a nail right through his sinuses. He clutches his head in pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

"You're burnin' up, Settsu," he reasons, crossing his arms. "'s not a good idea to exhaust yourself."

It took ages to arrange this rehearsal. A stupid cold isn't going to get in the way. He needs to—his head throbs in pain. Through the glassiness of his eyes he can see the expression on Hyodo’s face, full of pity and sympathetic pain. It’s always overwhelming to be on the other end of his gaze, whether he’s on stage or off it, Hyodo’s full attention feels like it pins him to the spot.

"Go back to sleep. I'll let 'em know."

God, this feels pathetic. He can do nothing but nod before he hears Hyodo leave the room again. More sleep sounds...really nice, actually. Really, really nice.

~0~

The next time he wakes, it's to the sound of a pill bottle rattling inside a plastic convenience store bag. The sound of it makes his ears pop, and he feels disgustingly damp under the sheets. The fabric clings to his skin from sweat, and there's definitely drool on his pillow from having to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. Gross.

He hasn’t even opened his eyes before the bag is unceremoniously tossed…directly into his face.

“Ow, what the hell?” he snaps as he sits up. “Seriously?”

“I’m goin’ home for the weekend. Don’t hurt yourself.”

And with that, the door latches shut again, leaving Banri to his own thoughts and the bag now sitting in his lap.

It’s from the convenience store just around the corner, a packet of painkillers and a few packets of snacks that he’s sure Hyodo knows he likes. It’s long past dinnertime, and Banri is reasonably sure he hasn’t eaten anything today, not that he really trusts his memory.

With great effort, he pulls himself down the ladder, and on his desk is a bottle of water and a coffee that he knows wasn’t there when he crawled into bed earlier. It’s almost sweet. Maybe it even is sweet how considerate the gesture is, and even though Hyodo himself isn’t here, there was an effort made to watch after him.

It’s a little bit overwhelming. He wishes he could blame the feelings on the fever, or that he could point to something else that’s making him feel like this, but it’s impossible to blame this on anyone but his own self. When he was at home, he’s unsure if anyone would have even noticed he wasn’t feeling well. If his grades were up and his parents weren’t getting calls about him being in trouble, then the only person who would have cared was his sister—and even then, it would only be to complain about him being an annoyance.

He can’t really remember the last time that someone was paying attention to him like this. He definitely doesn’t remember the last time that someone took care of him when he was sick.

It’s so overwhelming he’s nauseous—he’ll claim it’s dehydration for now, just to get the feeling to go away.

He peels off the clothes he’s been wearing all day, changes into proper pajamas, and crawls back into bed with his Switch. A part of him still hates to admit that Hyodo was right. He did need to hydrate and eat, and his head hurts a hell of a lot less after taking some painkillers, but it’s not like he’ll ever admit that part aloud. Hyodo probably knows anyway, he shouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

~0~ 

He's trying his absolute best to be present.

It's a rare weekend that all of them are at home together, especially so close to another Summer performance. Mom was thrilled, and Dad came home from work early to make sure that he could have dinner with all of them. He should be giving them his full attention, shouldn’t feel reluctant to go sit down and watch a baseball game with Kumon, but he’s struggling to focus, his head lingering somewhere around the Mankai Company dorms, hoping that Settsu didn’t do something stupid like trying to help Summer Troupe or attempting to cook something for himself. The last thing they need is a trip to the hospital over burns or because he gave himself a concussion after falling asleep in the shower.

He can be so, so stubborn sometimes, and even though he knows he’s plenty capable, Juza wants to go back and make sure that he’s alright, make sure he’s been drinking fluids and isn’t pushing himself too hard. Juza doubts that he is—he didn’t seem like he was in any state to be out of bed, let alone actually doing anything—but the worry is nagging at him regardless. He shouldn’t message him, there’s no way he would respond, but he wants to anyway. Maybe he could message Taichi and get him to check in? That feels creepy.

He’s stressing over nothing. And he knows that he is, but it feels impossible to stop at this juncture, like when he thinks he’s forgotten his wallet when he heads out and can’t focus on anything else until he makes sure he has it with him. That sort of thing.

“Is something wrong?” Kumon asks, a little later in the evening while they’re trying to watch some B-rate slasher film from a few decades back. Juza lost track of the nonsense plot a few minutes back, but Kumon seemed to be having a good time.

“Oh, yeah. ‘S fine,” he answers after a few beats. Kumon doesn’t look like he believes him, but he settles again, his legs dangling over the armrest of the couch casually.

He tries to focus on the movie again, but the sound of their father doing dishes in the kitchen is distant but distracting, and his phone feels like a brick in his pocket, nagging at him just to check in. The movie isn’t going to recapture his attention at this point. 

“Are you sure something’s not wrong?” Kumon asks again, a little too observant for his own good.

“I might go back to the dorms tonight,” Juza sighs in defeat.

Kumon hums understandingly. “Because of Banri?” 

Juza doesn’t answer. That’s probably enough of an answer for his brother anyway.

“Well,” he shifts a little, trying to puzzle out something appropriate to say, or maybe filtering out something he shouldn’t say, “drive safe if you do.”

“I will.”

~0~

The dorms are quiet when he arrives back home, late at night. There’s a soft light filtering through the crack beneath Room 103, and some light noises from behind closed bedroom doors, but it’s well into the time of the evening where almost everyone has retired.

There’s still a weird anxiety lingering under his skin. He knows that Settsu is fine, really—he’s nothing if not independent—but for some reason, it’s a relief to hear the familiar clicking of buttons when he steps back into their shared dorm room, a good enough sign of life reminder that Juza doesn’t need to see anything else.

All the lights in the room are off, leaving the blue light of the Switch as the only light source in the entire room. He can only just barely make out Banri’s features tucked behind it, his brows furrowed in concentration. Juza doesn’t remember the title, but he’s been playing some sort of point and click puzzle game lately.

“It’s actually kind of challenging sometimes,” he’d remarked in the afternoon a week or two ago. He always tells Juza about the games he’s playing, even though Juza can’t think of any activity he’d like to do less than play a puzzle game inside all day. He still likes hearing about them, though. It’s one of the few things that Settsu seems to get genuinely excited about outside theater.

When the door latches shut behind him, Settsu jolts slightly, looking up at him from where he sits, curled up in his bed, with both his own and Juza’s blankets pulled onto his bed.

“I—“ he freezes up, voice sounding rough still—“I didn’t think—“

Juza clears his throat. “You’re feelin’ better?”

There’s a long pause.

“…Yeah.”

He gets ready for bed in silence, only the quiet shuffling of clothing and Settsu tossing his blankets back over the railing.

It’s tense and awkward until both of them are settled. Settsu still hasn’t pressed a button since he first entered.

He hears a deep breath and another shift from Settsu.

“Thanks, by the way,” it’s barely a whisper, “for earlier.”

“Jus’ want our leader to feel better.”

There’s a sound that sounds like laughter.

“I won’t apologize if you get sick later.”

The Three Great Spears of Japan, renowned for their strength and infamous for their tales of war and victory. It's inevitable that they would be summoned here, put to use by their saniwa, and grow to be just as celebrated in these new forms as they were before.

"The captain for the second unit will be Otegine-san," Horikawa—attendant for the day—announces to the courtyard, his light voice carrying on the summer breeze. "Alongside him, we'll have Midare-san, Chatannakiri-san, Atsushi-san, Nihongou-san, and Tonbokiri-san. Please report back when you're all prepared!"

The courtyard buzzes with energy as everyone talks about the training missions, Nihongou laughing good-naturedly as Namazuo complains about not being invited on the excursion yet. Otegine has been on these missions before, but captain holds a different status than simply being on the team. He takes a deep breath as he readies himself for the long, strenuous training days to come.

"We'll see you on the water." Sasanuki, who is currently headed out with the First Unit, waves to them with a smile.

Summer training is, in theory, serious team building work. The sort of practice that will make them more cohesive as a unit, that will make them stronger as they progress into more and more difficult battles, but in practice—

Horikawa hands each member of the team a water gun, pulled from a bin that they only use in the middle of every summer.

"Really, I'm no good at—" Otegine starts, the protest ringing hollow. It is his fifth time at the regiment, after all.

"’Anythin' but stabbing,’ we know," Nihongou comments, taking the water gun into his hands without complaint. He adjusts the goggles sitting on his head.

"It will be a wonderful opportunity to expand our skills, then." Tonbokiri smiles at him.

Midare cheers as they're transported to their destination, his voice getting lost somewhere in the winds of time.

Their feet land on sand, the salty smell of the ocean air hitting each of them all at once, the deep, calming sound of waves crashing at the shoreline again and again and again. Otegine takes a deep breath. This sensation is familiar only to this body, these sounds and this smell and the easy comfort of the water gun in his hands, the sound of water sloshing and the patterns of this sort of training battle all come back to him as easily as waves roll in.

Nihongou's hand claps down on his shoulder at the same time that Sasanuki and Chiyoganemaru from the First Unit call out to them, a surfboard under Sasanuki's left arm, and a paddleboard stuck in the sand behind Chiyoganemaru.