Growing Spoons

Rusted Screws

The ringing from Kyoya's fifth alarm clock rang throughout his bedroom, adding yet another layer of grating sound to the cacophony that attempted to get him up each morning. He knew Tachibana was dutifully waiting beyond the door, there to just make sure he didn't manage to sleep through them, and he'd often help him with some of his morning routine before school.

Objectively, he supposed the golden sun and jubilant birdsong streaming in from the skylight would give many the impression that it was a lovely day. However, he wasn't under any such delusions. He'd been awake since before the first alarm rang, the sheets wound around his hands in a white-knuckled grip and face shoved into his pillow. It was annoying, how he either slept for twelve full hours or woke up so early. He blames the later on the pain, however; while awaking to the sensation of rusted screws twisting through his hips and knees wasn't that unusual for him, it was never pleasant.

It wasn't even like it really mattered how much sleep he got, anyway; he was constantly exhausted. He dragged himself up and kept going no matter how much he wanted to just lay in bed, because he had to. Just laying there, vegetating, wasn't going to help him.

On days like this, however, he couldn't even imagine getting up. Every small movement only increased the throbbing, stiff pain. It was like his joints were being soldered together, like iron girders. He couldn't even roll over to turn off his alarms, even if the incessant beeping was almost maddening. He was trying to just... psych himself up for it, to manage through the flare of pain rolling over would inevitably cause.

His stomach was already rolling, nausea hitting him in waves. He never vomited, just felt like he would. It was strange how fucked up his body was, even if it was just a singular, underlying issue.

Fibromyalgia. He hated it, being so tired and in pain. It wasn't even that its inconsistency was a saving grace; it just confused people. He could do something one day and find it impossible the next, and it was frustrating for everyone involved. Even if the teachers were told not to piss off the students, he could feel the doubt emanating off his gym instructor as he sat out of an activity, even if he was relying on his cane to move around.

It was embarrassing, in that vain and petty way that seems to bother people the most. He was a teenager who limped like an old man, relying on a walking stick. He was delicate and so fucking drained, and he couldn't even figure out how to manage his spoons. He was in such a minority; most fibro suffers being female, which already put him in the ten percent, but also being so young. The average age when this issue flared up was forty-five and he was only seventeen. It felt like it was impossible to just be a teenager, planning everything around fatigue and fluctuating symptoms and not even knowing if he'd be able to stand the next day.

Then, there were days like today, so close to unbearable, but he couldn't make himself scream out. Because where was the dignity in that? Helplessly mewling any name that came to mind in the hopes that they'd... what? They couldn't do anything, and that was one of the most annoying parts of it. He wanted it all gone.

But it never would be. You manage fibro, you can't cure it. Not to mention that he was just plain awful at managing it. Spoons ran out too quickly, and he couldn't tell how many he had left until there were none and he was dipping into the day after's supply. He tried to do too much, all at once, because that was just how things got done.

"Kyoya? Are you awake?"

The door pushed open to reveal Tachibana's silhouette, outlined by the light from the room beyond, and he could only wipe his damp face with his sleeve and try to seem more put together. After all, if Tachibana saw him crying, he'd worry and there was no point in that – he'd gotten through worse days. Still, the pain just felt so intense, and there was no way he could even get to the bathroom himself – even with his cane – let alone school.

"Oh, Kyoya..." He heard the man sigh, fingers combing gently through his hair, careful to avoid any knots, and the grating calamity was finally silenced, "It's a bad day, isn't it?"

At any other times, his reply would be sarcastic. He'd throw out some flippant comment and slowly – so, so slowly – push himself out from beneath the covers. Now, however, he couldn't make himself think of one, his brain too foggy and the pain too intense. He just nodded, letting out a long, stuttered breath in the hopes of draining the tension from his shoulders, legs and hips. Tachibana just kept stroking his hair, trying to relax him, even just a little.

"Do you have any spoons?" Tachibana asked, "If you think you can manage going to school in your wheelchair, then you probably –"

"No," He refused, voice far too close to a whimper for his liking. It wasn't as if he'd even be able to concentrate in this state, and while it was good to show that he at least made the effort to go in, he... couldn't. Not in the chair. His cane already got odd looks, but he could make it work; he could still be intimidating and powerful, but as some skinny, pathetic boy in a wheelchair?

It was stupid, really. To be concerned by something so ultimately meaningless. If someone didn't take him seriously, then that was their loss. They'd soon pay for it – it was karmic retribution.

Tachibana seemed to take his refusal in stride, however, simply agreeing that perhaps he should stay home. What was the point in using spoons he just didn't have?

"I'll go call the school to let them know, and get your hot water bottles," The older man informed, short nails dully scraping over his scalp. Hot water bottles helped, as did painkillers and topical creams and balms. His bedside table was covered in them, but they were just out of reach from where he currently was. He'd try moving in a minute, but for now he just squeezed his eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep.

It was all he could do on days like these, after all.

A/N: This is kinda an introductory chapter, don't worry, we'll get to that sweet MoriKyo content soon. This is kinda a vent fic tbh, as... I might have fibro myself. I certainly have some sort of condition, anyway. I've been in bed Suffering for the past few days, so guess who's getting my shit dumped all over him, yay! I also suck at regulating my spoons.

But in all seriousness, I'm not officially diagnosed yet, it might not be fibro. If you see anything inaccurate in this fic then... that's why.