down for the count {tasuku, tenma}
There's a very small part of his brain that tells him from the start that this is a bad idea. He's never done an event like this before, with good reason. Even when he'd thought, "Just this once, maybe...", a doctor or a teacher has always told him it'd be "best if he sat this one out". He can't place any blame on them though; in fact the logical side of him has always agreed. His condition is fragile enough, it's unwise to put himself under unneeded stress. He's worried people enough, the least he can do is ease their fears by putting his health above all else.
He shouldn't make more trouble than he already has.
But Kerria Academy is like a gulp of fresh air. People aren't breathing down his neck, not now at the start of the school year, and Haruka loses himself in the feeling of utter normalcy. He knows he should have spoken with Jeff-sensei, should have requested an alternative assignment, but... just one time, he wants to do what everyone else is. Just a bit, he promises himself, he won't push his body too hard. Only a little. He'll be okay as long as he's careful.
But then their captain, Tenma, gets out, and suddenly Haruka makes his first successful paintball shots. Tasuku is taken down, then Haruka is captain. It's short-lived, he only feels the responsibility and importance for a mere few minutes, but then faced with the uselessness of being out, all he wants to do is continue supporting his team. Running around and recruiting students, cheering for his teammates still in the war and attacking bravely, Haruka forgets all about his body. For a few precious hours, he's exactly like everyone else with one unanimous thought in mind: victory.
It's the final stretch to get people out. Paintball participants are scattered all around campus, and Haruka is dashing left and right to find fellow blues to cheer on. Eyes darting from person to person, keen on catching faces he recognizes, it's as if a switch is hit when a wave of dizziness practically barrels over him.
He staggers, a hand clutching the fabric of his shirt in more conditioned response more than anything, and the ground starts spinning. Shortage of breath from running progresses into erratic, stuttered pants, but for a fleeting moment he tries to convince himself, "I'm... fine... I just need to sit down--"
Except a familiar numbness begins to settle, and his movements become jerky and uncoordinated. His control is quickly slipping, and the deprivation of oxygen to his brain is making it hard to do anything. Sounds choke out of his throat, but if they were intended as calls for help, no one could possibly differentiate between the strangled cries that escaped.
"Why now? When we're so close...?" He can barely register the dull thud of his own body hitting the ground. For all of the failing systems in his body, his thoughts stream clearly in his head even as he's blinking in and out of consciousness.
"I just wanted to have fun."
"It was nice... feeling normal."
And one last, nagging guilt:
"I must be ruining everything."
