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Atsushi knows one thing: he is tired.
Something hot and thick permeates his skull- his brain is made of honey, oozing slowly, slowly, out of his burning eyes.
It's hot. He doesn't understand why it's hot. It was cold before- was it winter? He can't remember. All he knows is that it's hot now and he wants it to stop, reaching blindly for something to ease the fire under his skin.
There are voices- a few of them. He tries to pick them out but he can't seem to place them. Their words slip in and out if his ears like liquid, but he hopes they don't stop. They sound nice, whoever they are, and the gentle murmurs lull him into submission, allowing himself to be moved. He's not sure where he's going, but it must be better than here in the heat.
He wonders if he's in trouble. He thinks he was supposed to be doing something, though he's not sure what. He reaches for memories but he comes back empty handed. He was going somewhere, wasn't he? Had the headmaster called for him? He tries to remember, he tries, but his head hurts and he is so so tired.
He feels hands under his arms, and he's lifted up, up, and then down again on something soft. Someone brushes hair out of his face, cool fingers trailing across his burning forehead. It's gentle- he can't remember the last time someone was gentle with him.
The hands press something cold and wet onto his face. The relief is instant, and he whines pitifully, leaning desperately into coolness.
There's a soft laugh. The person with the gentle hands is laughing, he thinks. They lean in just close enough for him to hear. "That feels good, huh? You're running quite the fever there. It's impressive honestly."
Another voice calls something from somewhere near, and the person with the gentle hands hums. They begin to card their fingers through Atsushi's hair and oh that feels nice. Who was it that was treating him so kindly? Not the headmaster, surely. The headmaster wasn't gentle or kind. He was angry- always angry with Atsushi. So who would... Who would....?
More words are exchanged and the hand leaves his hair. He mourns this loss, but he shouldn't, he reminds himself. Gentleness is not for him. Kindness is not for him. He is bad, and bad people deserve nothing but punishment.
Punishment must be coming, surely. He was supposed to be doing something, wasn't he? But he is tired, tired and useless, and he will be punished for it.
He hears footsteps approach. This must be it, he thinks. The headmaster was coming to punish him now. What would he choose this time, he wonders? Would he beat him? Burn him? Tear into his flesh with a hammer and nail, and peg him to the wall like a poached animal?
A hand tilts his head forward and presses something cold and metallic onto his tongue. He gags on it, his body convulsing as if trying to reject something foul. The hand presses onto his chest, and another grabs his shoulder. They don't feel like the headmaster's hands. They're not as gentle as the others, but rather precise. Logical. They hold him steady as he retches on air, failing to expel whatever evil thing is holding his body hostage.
He gasps for air as the retches subside, and he is pushed back down onto the soft surface. The not-headmaster snaps something to someone across the room and he flinches. Perhaps this wasn't the headmaster, but they sounded angry. He's done something wrong, he must have. He tries to choke out an apology, but his voice is stretched thin and he only manages something akin to a pained cry.
The gentle hand returns to his hair in an instant, fingers brushing methodically across his scalp. "Shh, shhh, Atsushi, it's okay. You're okay."
He's not okay, he wants to say. He is hot and he is tired and he hurts, but he knows he's been bad. He's something cursed, something wretched, and he needs to be corrected.
He can hear another voice- a third one?- and both figures step away from him. The new voice is sharp, demanding. Questions and answers are rapidly exchanged, and his honeyed brain picks up only jumbled pieces.
"...is he?..."
"...fever....might be dangerous...."
"....delirious...."
"....doesn't recognize us...."
"...out....needs rest...."
More footsteps, and the shutting of a door. The new person kneels next to him, adjusting the cool material on his head.
"....here, Atsushi. Drink." He is lifted, a glass pressed to his lips, and a cool liquid trickles down his throat. He welcomes it eagerly. "Slowly." The new person chastises. Their voice is sharper, their words spoken with more confidence than the others. Their hands push him back down, gently, and pull something heavy over him. He squirms, but they hold him in place.
"It's okay. I know you must be scared, but no one's going to hurt you."
"Punishment?" Atsushi rasps, because he needs to know. He wants to accept correction, to be better.
"No, Atsushi." The voice sounds strangely sad. "You're not being punished. You didnt do anything wrong."
He didn't? That can't be right. Atsushi has always done something wrong.
The strange, sad, nice person seems to sense his confusion, and they cup his cheek gently. "You're just sick, so you're a little confused right now, but no one's upset with you. We're just worried."
Worried? About him? "Why?"
A sigh. "Because we care about you, honey. We want you to be okay."
"Care." These people care about him. About him, about the wretched little thing that he is. Why? What had he done to earn kindness like this? He is useless, only a tired child with a head full of honey.
"Yes, Atsushi. We care. You're safe here."
Safe. Safe safe safe. He's safe here. He's cared for. He doesn't understand, but God is he tired. He wants to sleep. Sleep here, where he is safe, watched over by people who cared for some unexplainable reason.
A thumb rubs his cheek. "Rest, Atsushi. You'll feel better in the morning."
Part of him hopes he doesn't. For all the pain he's in, he hopes he can stay here. He doesn't want to wake up back at the orphanage. He'll endure all the suffering in the world if he can keep being visited by these people who treat him with more kindness than he deserves.
But, again, Atsushi is tired. So he takes his chances and closes his eyes.