Another day of holding muichiro’s hair up as he tries not to gag, How many times has he vomited blood this month? 10?

its not like he appreciated the gesture. He hated being mothered, you could barely call yourselves friends. No matter how many times you told him he was destroying his body for the sake of this job— he never listened. Sometimes you were sure he hated you.

Eventually he pulled away from you, leaning his head against the wooden wall. Trying to catch his breath in pain.