Work Text:
There was a consistent, almost annoying pain in his lower back that woke Fubuki up. He’d probably turned around while asleep, putting pressure on his hips. No real reason for him to worry much about it, when he could practically see the bruises littered in the area without even opening his eyes.
His legs also hurt, though slightly less. Suoh had a tendency to grab at his hips rather than his legs, when it came to this sort of thing. Most of the bruises tended to concentrate there, for better and worse.
Eventually Fubuki sighed, opening his eyes and daring to stare at himself. Alas, there was currently a sheet covering his body. After mentally rolling his eyes at himself, he pulled the covers off and took stock of the situation.
Exactly as he’d thought, there were bruises basically everywhere around his waist and hips. His legs weren’t much better, though thankfully those looked like they were already healing. Slowly, carefully, he poked around his upper body and neck — definitely some bite marks on there as well. Fubuki was already somewhat used to this, though it would’ve been a lie to say he did enjoy waking up to this level of physical damage. He’d be needing some ibuprofen for this… Perhaps more than just ‘some.’
Trying his best not to put unnecessary weight on his body, Fubuki managed to turn around, staring at the room he was in. Suoh’s room, to be precise. He used one of those ‘I require your presence at my home tonight for a conversation post haste’ excuses he made half the time he wanted to do this sort of thing.
Was it that hard to be sincere, every once in a while? Maybe at this point in the game, Fubuki needed to give up on such ideas.
Fubuki blinked twice, trying to clean his vision. The morning light was beginning to cascade from a nearby window, managing to blind him for a moment. It was also a rather annoying reminder that he was supposed to go to school in… What? A couple of hours, at most.
At least the bruises would be covered by his clothes.
His eyes moved about the room, unsure if he was distracting himself or simply checking that nothing had changed in the hours after he fell asleep; Fubuki’s gaze eventually settled down on one of Suoh’s half-finished flower arrangements.
It’s not like he actively tried to forget, but Fubuki’s mind would sometimes completely blank on the fact that this was an aspect of Suoh’s. Perhaps because he appeared as enthralled by the work as he was infuriated by it, a balancing act between love and discord that mayhaps was impossible to find a resolution to.
This particular arrangement was quite bold. Yellow camellias and… What were those purple flowers named? Kamchatka lilies? Something like that — never ask Fubuki to remember, this was simply not his prerogative. They were also accompanied by plum blossoms; again, Fubuki wasn’t an expert, but it looked like there was supposed to be a sort of colour progression in those choices. Or an attempt at it, if anything.
Even with a lack of knowledge when it came to art, Fubuki could only describe the piece in front of him as ‘impressive.’ It wasn’t the same sort of feeling one would get by staring at a painting, not that this was something Fubuki did often, but there was a heavy weight to its composition — not a literal one, of course, but noticeable to the naked eye nonetheless. Whatever message was trying to be conveyed while in the process of creating this arrangement was supposed to hit one straight across the face, not unlike a well placed slap.
Of course, there were much more reasonable, or perhaps direct, ways to give a message of such import. However it was a known fact to Fubuki at this point that whoever was supposed to explain that to Suoh had, for some reason, taken the day off.
While this train of thought could’ve continued for at least a couple minutes, it was rudely interrupted by a sound in the background. Fubuki barely realised someone was showering, too occupied dealing with the soreness of his body, after the constant pattering of the water hitting tiles a room or two over abruptly stopped. Minutes passed by in relative silence afterward, finally interrupted when the door to the bedroom was unceremoniously opened.
Suoh walked in like he owned the room. Which he did, by all intents and purposes. He stood by the bed, one arm stretching closer up until the moment he realised Fubuki was actually awake. If his intention had been to shake him awake… Well, Fubuki wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Probably bit his hand or something similar in retaliation.
“You’re going to be late for school, if you don’t get up soon.” Suoh said, without even greeting him, like it wasn’t his entire fault that Fubuki was currently having to grapple with a rather sore and tender body.
Fubuki made a soft, annoyed sounding groan in his direction. What possessed Suoh to walk closer to the bed, standing almost close enough to touch, would be a mystery for the ages — realistically he might’ve wanted to check if Fubuki could even get up. No matter, the only important part was that he was staring down at Fubuki at a distance that was far less daunting.
He stretched a hand toward Suoh, trying to grab him by the sleeve. Arm hanging in the air, trembling ever so slightly from the effort, Fubuki saw as Suoh took a step back. This inevitably put enough distance for Fubuki’s efforts to be entirely useless.
Oh, if only he had the upper (or lower) body strength to punch (or kick) Suoh right now.
This inability of his to be reasonable and open about his emotions had definitely crossed the line that separated ‘understandable, but juvenile’ from ‘annoying and likely to piss off everyone around him, including himself.’ And yet it was still not Fubuki’s responsibility to fix this for Suoh, to his own dismay.
A part of Fubuki’s brain tried to remind him that there was no real point to this; he was surely more attached than Suoh ever would. Or at the very least more than Suoh would ever admit to being, whether this was healthy for anyone involved.
In another perfectly unexpected move, Suoh once more got closer — once Fubuki’s hand was retracted back to the bed, — and he went down on his knees, so the two of them would be face to face. He was staring at Fubuki with a rather inscrutable expression. If Fubuki was to hazard a guess, it was an emotion between annoyance and tenderness, with a little bit of self-hatred sprinkled on top for good measure.
Arguably this was what Fubuki would’ve preferred, though he also had no reason to believe this wasn’t exactly what Suoh was feeling. He was stupid enough to make it somewhat obvious, with barely any observation applied, that whatever internal conflict was going on in his mind was also entirely self-inflicted. Fubuki wouldn’t necessarily have described him as self-flagellating, but there was no doubt a tendency in Suoh to make decisions that could and would easily screw him in the long term.
To an extent, this was also Fubuki’s own fault for playing along. But then again, what was he supposed to do? He refused to act like Suoh’s guardian, which he wasn’t, and he also didn’t want to lose his friend.
This was a mess. And he was so very tired.
“What’s with that face you’re making?” Suoh asked, poking him once on the forehead. Fubuki didn’t have a mirror to check, although he could sort of imagine what his own, scrunched up expression looked like.
Fubuki shrugged, relaxing his facial muscles. He didn’t feel like explaining himself, or his feelings, and Suoh was thankfully not in a position to demand something he himself was incapable of giving.
Almost reflexively, one of Fubuki’s arms stretched once more, trying to bring Suoh’s face close enough to be kissed — even a slight touch on the cheek would’ve been enough, really. Suoh realised what his intentions were, pulling away and keeping a far safer distance between them. Again.
(He truly deserved every jab Fubuki had ever given him, verbal or otherwise.)
“There’s no time for that—” There never was, when it really mattered. “—take a shower and get going, I’m not waiting for you.”
And with that he left the bedroom, not daring to look back at Fubuki.
With a long suffering sigh Fubuki finally put in the physical effort to sit on the bed, not yet fully prepared to fully get up. He had to, eventually. Inevitably. He would be taking some painkillers before showering though, if only so he had to wait the least amount of time possible before they took effect.
Trudging along, slowly and on still shaking legs, Fubuki had the vague thought that this must be what it’s like to be middle aged. For some reason, he wanted to laugh at himself for that.
His gaze fell on the flower arrangement he’d woken up to, unmoving and somehow judgemental. The idea that flowers could even be judgemental was utterly ridiculous, and yet Fubuki couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being looked down upon. He took a couple steps closer, fingers gently touching the petals of one of the plum blossoms. Fragile little things they were, it was always surprising that Suoh managed to create pieces like this. Having such a delicate touch with these things, and then acting the way he did… The contrast was rather intense.
The flower snapped clean from its branch, now located entirely on Fubuki’s palm. He would’ve panicked, but he’d seen Suoh throw his own work without any care for it once finished — or, if he was feeling particularly incensed, half-way through it. This was surely going to be ignored. Or Suoh would hold it against him for his benefit. One or the other.
Fubuki sighed again, somehow sounding far more anguished than the last. Love was such a complicated thing, truly, almost cursed in nature. Perhaps this was just Suoh’s fault. Perhaps this was Fubuki’s fault for not putting his foot down, when it was most needed. Trying to avoid conflict, entirely different conflicts for entirely different reasons at that, left them both in this position.
Still, the love was there. Until that well dried up Fubuki would find himself here.
If that well ever dried up, of course.
For now Fubuki had a very long day ahead of him. He took the flower along with him, putting it inside one of his pockets after changing. He would inevitably bring it home, caring for it until it was close to rotting.
Something of a habit for him, though hardly this literal in most cases.