Plain White T
The blood always dries on the underside of the T-shirt, and it always shows through.
After Ritsu-sensei wipes away the sticky red substance that seems to have ingrained itself in Soubi's vision from whip's tip to base, he sets it back in its holding place on the wall with a click.
It fits perfectly.
"That is all for today, Soubi."
Soubi lowers his eyes as he lowers his back to retrieve the crumpled up T-shirt on the ground. The pain sears into his spine through the tightening of his muscles as he bends down. When his fingertips finally touch the fabric of the T-shirt his vision blurs and all he can see is the deep color of blood-red.
He grips the T-shirt hard in his hand, feeling the rough touch of its surface in his palm, and when he pulls it over his head the T-shirt latches onto his back by the glue of the red trailing patterns down his skin. For Soubi, the sticky feeling afterwards will always be worse than the physical pain during.
His footsteps light on the hardwood fade the further he walks from Ristu-sensei's office, and Ritsu takes a moment to appreciate Soubi's intelligence in switching from white to black.