It couldn’t be a good thing, that Ryuji had spent so much time out of school. The occasional day was almost to be expected, but Makoto usually got on him pretty quickly if he missed too many.
He had been utterly enraptured in a painting himself, (a frequent enough occurrence that missing a couple of days of seeing him wasn’t anything unusual), but Makoto’s call had him dropping his brush immediately. He hurried to the corner store and purchased a soup, ignoring the look the cashier gave him for paying in low denomination coinage, before hopping onto the subway to hurry to Ryuji’s home. It was a long enough distance that the soup had grown cool by the time he approached, a thought he hadn’t taken into consideration when he’d purchased it.
Ryuji looked pale, and Yusuke’s heart fell a bit. Was he worse than he had thought? Perhaps this was more serious than he had been led to believe. He set down the soup as Ryuji approached him, fully prepared to envelope his boyfriend. Their arms slipped around one another, and Yusuke was startled by how much cooler Ryuji felt. Usually he was the cold one.
“Orizuru...” The tone was soft, concerned, as he brought a hand up to run his fingers through the blond’s hair. He let out a soft sigh as Ryuji nestled his face against his neck, a bit surprised that he just sank against him like that. He was about to lean down to bury his face against his hair when a sharp pain came from his neck, and he felt himself stiffen.
The sensation was over when suddenly Ryuji seemed to leap away from him, slapping against the opposite wall, looking horrified.
“Dude, what the fuck– Wh…Yusuke, I don’t…”
Was that blood? “Orisuru, are you alright?” It didn’t even occur to him that the blood was his own. Considering how pale Ryuji was, Yusuke wondered if things were outright dire. He stepped forward, temporarily oblivious that he had open wounds on the side of his neck, his brows etched with concern. “Come, sit down. I brought you some soup...”
