#queasiness

In the Generation of Miracles, you did not get sick. If you had a game, you played and you won – that was all there was to it. Actual physical condition was irrelevant as long as the player could still remain on his feet and dominate the court, which was something Murasakibara never had a problem with.

He still remembered the day when he’d come down with the stomach flu – after spending the entire night pulling his guts out, he’d reported to the game as expected the next day. He’d played, in spite of the churning in his stomach and the pressing feeling that he was going to be sick any minute. They’d won. After the game, he had taken a few steps outside and promptly gotten sick into the nearest bush; no one had bothered to follow him out, and it was actually a comfort that he was alone.

Murasakibara hated being sick.

He’d hoped that he would never have to face something like that awful day again – he didn’t want to feel awful, he didn’t want to have to push himself to play when he felt ready to collapse at any moment. Yet he still played basketball; even though he didn’t love the game, it wasn’t something he could leave behind, and it had followed him into high school.

He was Yosen’s shield, their most powerful defensive weapon. He was their member of the Generation of Miracles.

Being sick wasn’t allowed.

Fighting past another wave of nausea that made his stomach feel like it was curdling, Murasakibara swiped the ball out of the air halfheartedly. He didn’t even have to try; it didn’t make it close to the basket, and he blinked down at Fukui as his lips curled.

“Keep at it, Fukui!” Okamura encouraged from across the court. “You’ve almost got it!”

Murasakibara disagreed. He’d been standing her blocking his teammate’s shots for the past five minutes, and Fukui wasn’t even close to shooting past him. It was a little pathetic. He didn’t want to be here right now, and he certainly didn’t feel like acting as a brick wall between one of his teammate’s and the basket. How boring.

“Oh, come on!” Glaring up at him, Fukui was practically vibrating with frustration. “You’re not even trying, are you?”

“No,” Murasakibara replied flatly. “Can I go somewhere else now? I want to.”

“No. I’m going to get this shot in, dammit.”

“But you’re not, and I’m bored.” As if to emphasize his words, his stomach suddenly have out a long, low burble; Murasakibara couldn’t hide the grimace that came over his face.

Fukui paused, frowning as he blinked owlish eyes up at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Was that your stomach?” He peered suspiciously at Murasakibara’s middle, concealed by his baggy t-shirt. The queasy boy half-feared that Fukui would try to lift his shirt up; he took a cautious step back, just in case.

“No. It wasn’t,” he replied, brow furrowing crossly. “Go away.”

Fukui huffed. “Geez. Fine, I can take a hint. Just don’t throw up all over the court – or if you have to, try to get the second or third string instead of all of us. And make sure I have a camera out.”

Fukui was loud, annoyingly so. His voice, as well as the interesting topic of conversation, attracted even more unwanted attention as Liu Wei wandered over from where he’d been practicing. Murasakibara narrowed his eyes at him, but unsurprisingly the aloof exchange student refused to take the hint. “Who is throwing up?”

“No one,” Murasakibara said, at the same time Fukui pointed a thumb at him and replied, “This guy.”

Liu blinked, taking a large step back from Murasakibara. “You’re sick, then?”

“No.”

His stomach gurgled loudly, a cramp shooting through his stomach that caused Murasakibara to wince.

“Yes,” Fukui said flatly, and Murasakibara glared at him.

At this point, they were beginning to attract even more attention – not just from the starting players. As Himuro and Okamura curiously made their way over, Murasakibara caught Araki-sensei’s gaze locked on them as well. That was enough to really make him cringe – he didn’t want the coach, of all people, knowing he didn’t feel well. Araki-sensei was scary.

“Oi, Himuro, did you know this guy was sick today? Why’s he even at practice?”

Okamura’s thick brow furrowed, and Liu took another step back, as Murasakibara pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle a thick burp. He really was starting to feel queasier now, and it might have had something to do with all the attention he was getting. He didn’t like this at all – he didn’t want to be seen as the weak link in the team.

Himuro’s one visible eye, cool and piercing, was trained on Murasakibara. He couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze.

“I didn’t know Atsushi was sick,” Himuro said slowly. “He didn’t mention it.”

“I’m not sick,” grumbled Murasakibara, wrapping an arm around his churning stomach all the same. “I just… feel funny. My belly feels weird, but I can still play.”

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to,” remarked Okamura, visibly concerned. “Really. If you’re sick, you need to rest and get better, not push yourself.”

“I’m not sick,” insisted Murasakibara, but his words were punctuated by a low burp that didn’t do much to help his case.

“Atsushi,” Himuro said, “I really think you and I should go back to our dorm.”

Murasakibara shook his head, glowering. He didn’t understand why he was being forced into admitting he was sick. He wasn’t sick, he didn’t feel sick enough that he couldn’t still play, he wasn’t weak –

His stomach curdled again, and he let out a quiet groan at the sharp pang of agony shooting through him. This was apparently the final straw for Coach Araki, who had been watching silently from the sidelines.

“Murasakibara,” she said, voice not gentle but certainly not hard. She didn’t sound angry. “You’re done for today. Himuro, get him back to his room, and make sure he stays there. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Himuro took the orders with a solemn nod of his head. By this point, Murasakibara was feeling too nauseous and miserable to even argue. He could feel himself burning with shame as he walked out, following in Himuro’s footsteps; at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it was a relief to no longer have to push himself.

…

“You’re very silly, Atsushi,” Himuro said later, curled up next to Murasakibara on his bunk. It was a few minutes after they had gotten back to the dorms that Murasakibara’s nausea had really taken a turn for the worse. He’d spent nearly half an hour kneeling in the bathroom, heaving bile and stomach contents into the toilet. Only now, feeling exhausted and drained, with Himuro at his side, was he finally getting a chance to rest.

“Muro-chin’s mean,” he muttered, hiccuping softly. “I’m sick. Stop being mean to me.”

“I’m certainly not,” Himuro replied, crinkling his nose. When Himuro did that, Murasakibara couldn’t help but think he was kind of cute – even if he was annoying the rest of the time.

He let out a soft moan, wrapping both arms around his aching stomach. “My tummy hurts…”

“It’s alright, Atsushi.” Himuro was rubbing his back, even and soothing. His touch was relaxing enough that Murasakibara could feel the tension draining from him; he almost felt like he could melt.

He wasn’t expecting to hear a knock on the door. Himuro, however, didn’t seem surprised; he only turned to look over his shoulder, calling out a calm “come in!” as he slid off the bed. Murasakibara growled in displeasure at the sudden absence next to him, rolling onto his back.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice. “How’s the patient?”

“He could be doing better, Fukui-senpai. He isn’t throwing up any longer, at least.”

“Ahh, poor Murasakibara!” Okamura’s voice was too loud, his footsteps too heavy as he approached the bunk. As the captain peered down over the side at his sick teammate, Murasakibara suddenly got the mental image of a monster creeping up along the side of the bed to terrorize children at night.

“Nee, your face is scary,” he remarked, and Okamura immediately drew back with an expression of exaggerated hurt on his face. Fukui tried and failed to muffle a snort into his hand.

“He says his stomach is hurting him, but I’m not sure what I can do,” Himuro went on. “He’s still pretty queasy.”

As if to agree, Murasakibara pressed a wet belch against the back of his hand.

He was surprised to suddenly feel cool hands against his exposed stomach, spindly fingers pressing into the flesh. His first instinct was to pick his head up, wide-eyed; he was shocked to see Liu, who had earlier been so hesitant, kneading into his aching, groaning belly.

“One of my little brothers gets stomach aches a lot,” the boy explained, for the benefit of his gaping teammates. “I use this tactic to help. Perhaps it can help Murasakibara as well.”

Murasakibara considered the attentions being paid to his belly, and then hiccuped softly. “That feels really good… yeah…”

Okamura, having shaken off his earlier shock, now grinned warmly. “You see, Murasakibara? This is why you shouldn’t push yourself when you’re not feeling well!”

“Because I might make myself sicker and throw up all over the second string while Fukui-senpai films it?”

Himuro cast Fukui a dark look, while the older boy simply smirked. Okamura blinked for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Well, I mean, yeah, but no.” He dropped into a crouch at his teammate’s bed. With a softer look on his face, Murasakibara reflected that his captain didn’t look quite as scary. “You shouldn’t push yourself because you’ve got teammates who care about you.”

“We want you to stay healthy, and be able to be open with us when you’re not feeling well,” Himuro added sincerely.

“Yeah. Plus, if you died, it would kind of be a bad thing for the entire team.”

This time it was Liu who sent a pillow Fukui’s way. The older boy easily dodged, settling into a wry smirk.

Surrounded by his teammates, Murasakibara still felt painfully queasy – but somehow, it didn’t feel as bad anymore with others by his side. He had forgotten what it was like to be truly cared about by your team.

It was a disgrace. It was unthinkable. It shouldn’t be happening. If he were the other him -- the one who controlled everyone and everything with such ease -- it wouldn’t be.

He felt sick to his stomach.

His head was pounding, and his stomach was churning with nausea as the coach called Rakuzan’s second time out of the half. He didn’t want to stay to listen to whatever the coach had to say -- it was nothing he hadn’t heard before, nothing that could help him. He needed to be able to think, but it was so hard to think when his head wasn’t clear. Not in the way it needed to be. Sinking down on a bench, well removed from where the rest of the team was huddled

He could do it. He could switch into the other mode again, access his Emeror Eye, save the game for his team. But what sort of captain did Rakuzan really need right now? Did they need him, or did they need the Other? (And perhaps there was that fear, lingering ever-present in the back of his mind, that if he switched again he might never return to himself. It was so easy to close his eyes and let the Other do all the work he didn’t want to do, to see everything through a haze of red and gold...)

His stomach suddenly lurched, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a queasy hiccup. This wasn’t acceptable -- his own nerves were making him sick. He had to be more in control than this. He had to win.

Oh, but he really wasn’t feeling good. He could feel the contents of his stomach, all the water he’d drank and the quick lunch he’d managed to eat before the game, suddenly feeling heavy in his stomach. They churned, nausea rising within him in a way that felt all too dangerous. Gritting his teeth, he buried his face in his palms and allowed the blissful darkness to shelter him for maybe a second longer than he should have.

“Sei-chan? Are you alright?”

He didn’t seem okay. It was obvious that he wasn’t okay, if Mibuchi had to ask, and he hated the fact that he wasn’t hiding the way he felt. “I’m fine,” he replied, swallowing thickly past the dryness in his throat. He inhaled a deep breath, picking up his head to look at his teammate. Mibuchi had taken a seat on the bench next to him, delicate brow creased with worry.

“You don’t look fine at all.” He could hear the thoughtfulness in Mibuchi’s words, the concern overlaid with mother-hennishness typical of the shooting guard. “You should drink some water.”

“I don’t need to. I’m alright.” The only thing he needed was for this game to turn around, and fast. He wasn’t sure he could stand losing again, knowing it was only due to a weakness in leadership on his part...

His stomach roiled, a nauseous gurgle piercing the air. His jaw twitched, and he swallowed down a burp trying hard to claw its way us his throat. He was fine. He was just fine. He was --

He exhaled with a great heave, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. The gym floor seemed to spin in front of his eyes. He was so tired of not feeling in control.

“Here.” Mibuchi’s voice was gentle, and suddenly Akashi felt a water bottle being pressed into his hands. He didn’t think twice, giving it a short glance before taking a long sip. Something about the coolness of the liquid flowing down his throat anchored him, dragged him back to earth piece by piece until his head was feeling a bit less crowded.

Clearing his throat, he set the water bottle aside and turned to Mibuchi. “Hayama is being too reckless with his plays. We ought to bench him for this quarter, sub another one of the first-stringers in. Someone I’ve worked with before, and who you and Nebuya both mesh well with -- Arako, perhaps. His defensive power will work for us well against Shinzen’s number five. If we center our attacks around the point guard, who seems to be the weak link, and block out number five entirely, we’ll be able to turn this game around.”

Slowly, Mibuchi’s lips twitched upwards. Always unafraid to be tactile, he ran a hand up and down the center of Akashi’s back, soothing out the tension that had gathered there by touch alone. Mibuchi was vice-captain for a reason, Akashi thought -- of all the people on the Rakuzan team, it sometimes seemed like Mibuchi was the only one capable of remotely understanding him.

“You got it, Sei-chan,” he chirped, and rose from the bench to pass Akashi’s orders on to the rest of the team. Akashi squared his shoulders, wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and pushed himself to his feet as well.