Umehito's recovery is slow and painful. Saying that the first 36 hours after his exposure to the crippling sunlight in the courtyard was rough is a sickening understatement. The reaction had been the severest attack Umehito has ever had.
All light of any kind within 25 meters of Umehito's presence is banned. Noboru is in such a fit of fury over the state of the boy he's treated for years, he even goes as far as cutting off the electricity to the entire house Umehito recovers in through the electric companies instead of just relying on shutting the breakers. He secures Umehito in a windowless, well-ventilated room, and has every visitor to Umehito's room checked by a medical staff member.
Today is the first time Noboru even allows candles to be lit near the stricken child. Flashlights were unquestionably forbidden.
Today, two days after Umehito was sent to him, Noboru walks into Umehito's sealed off room with a nurse, who goes to clear the lunch tray that had been bought by the previous shift's nurse. Usually, she'd also set up the IV, but today Noboru carries the new bag of saline and antibiotic solution with him. Umehito's been on glucose administration and intravenous infusion of hematin since he went out of emergency resuscitation.
After the nurse sets down the lit candles she carried into the room and starts clearing away lunch, Noboru hooks up the bag to the IV and takes Umehito's proffered hand from the nurse, fitting the needle in with practiced ease.
"Kayama-sensei," says the weak blond, cocooned in mounds of comforters and pillows on his canopied bed. The line of the glucose IV sways as Umehito rests his tagged hand on his covered lap. Noboru could barely make out lines of Umehito's features and the shadow of his body in the candlelight, but sees the unnatural pallor of his drawn face clearly all the same. "I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble."
Noboru dismisses the claim of imposition with a shake of his head as he drags a chair over next to Umehito's bed. "I'm glad you're recovering," he says. He sees a question in the carriage of Umehito's body and waits until the nurse leaves before he frowns at Umehito, knowing exactly he wants to ask. Disapproval shades his voice as Noboru sits and says, "I understand you've requested you be cleared to return to school tomorrow."
"Yes, sensei."
"Nekozawa-sama," says Noboru precisely, clasping his hands together over his knees as he leans forward. "I can understand you feel pressure in maintaining appearances, but you do recall that two days ago, you were dead for one minute."
Umehito looks down and Noboru can see his lowered lashes under the fall of his hair, which glimmers palely even under unstable candlelight. The swelling of Umehito's skin had receded and was healing fast. In another day, sight alone wouldn't give a hint anything had ever happened. "...please," he whispers. "They shouldn't think it more serious than a mere phobia."
"They should have the severity of your condition chiseled in their thick skulls!"
Umehito closes tired eyes. "...please?"
"Forgive my forwardness, Nekozawa-sama, but do you want to die? Is carrying on appearances worth dying over? This is not a matter of willpower; this is a matter of incapability!"
The blond's pinched mouth tightens and he looks at Noboru. Noboru knows the other's eyes are still hypersensitive to light by the way Umehito turns carefully away from the candlelight as he faces Noboru. "...I would have your permission," says the Nekozawa heir, answering Noboru's sharp question with no answer, "But I will return to school." Heavy silence meets his words in cold reproach and it prompts Umehito to add, "Kyouya-kun has phoned again today asking Kadomatsu why I haven't been in. I can't have this known at school." The whisper is bit out with well thought out certainty. "It'll make it harder to take care of myself."
Noboru's lips thinned. "On your head be it. You can have my permission for the day after tomorrow and only with the strictest restrictions. Do not push me on this matter, Nekozawa-sama."
"...Thank you."
"Thank me if it's worth it."
---
Umehito has hepatic porphyria.
It is a hereditary genetic disorder long entwined with his family line, which descends from the royal bloodlines of Russia, where the presence of porphyria has reached mythical aspects, in the legends of vampires and werewolves.
Most Nekozawa descendents only have very mild porphyria that manifests as a slight abnormal sensitivity to light. Some don't have it at all. And one every five, ten generations has it severe enough that it inhibits living for its bearer. These few are the "ones with eyes only for darkness." Umehito is such a lover of darkness.
He is fortunate in some ways and unfortunate in others. His disorder is not acute and does not twist his appearance unprovoked. He had taken to, with delight, the occult his parents introduced as a hobby to him when they learned of the severity of his affliction, hoping to lighten the life of darkness he was destined to live.
But it cost him the sun. It cost him the ability to live freely. And it cost him the love of his little sister.
It had made the day out in the courtyard four days ago cost him dearly. Even in full uniform and with long hair to frame his face, the light had caused a reaction within seconds, spiking a 10 on the pain scale. Umehito had passed out completely and when he had regained some measure of consciousness fifteen minutes later with his cloak wrapped around his body like a shroud, in a private car rushing toward his physician, he'd been wracked with an acute porphyria attack, complete with vomiting, asphyxiation, and seizures. Merely seeing had hurt.
Unlike Umehito, Kirimi is free of the porphyria gene. Her adoration of the deadly sunlight is nearly incomprehensible for Umehito, who still half-expects exposure to well-lit places to kill her. But it never does.
And for a while, after finding his fears unfounded and finding himself able to withstand minimal exposure to some light with only sharp twinges punctuated with the occasional dizzy headache, he forgot the terror of light as well.
But after this, Umehito doesn't think he can forget again.
School is a trial of hardship when he returns.
Paranoia haunts him as he treads airy halls bathed in light. Soreness holds him stiff when he is still and anxiety mangles his gliding grace to unsteady jerks when he moves. Depression silences him more thoroughly than death.
After morning, Umehito had begun to fatigue, finding himself easily short of breath. He huddles deep in his billowing black robes, hood drawn so far over his head it nearly covers his face instead of only throwing it into shadow. He keeps to shadows, wrapping himself in small dark spaces, but he makes his token appearance at the Host Club in the third music room. No one approaches him when he does and a coil of tension in his gut eases as he is assured no one found anything amiss.
Presiding over the customary meeting of his Black Magic Club was a pleasure, but it saps the rest of his strength. Umehito is tired beyond words by the time he is escorted home, but it is not until he reaches one of the entrances of his mansion does he finally allow the utter exhaustion to show.
"Kuretake," says Umehito slowly, moving sluggishly inside. "Where is Kirimi?"
"She's in the front room, oboucchama," answers the maid, hitting the switch to dim the lights as she closes the door behind him.
Umehito lowers the hood of his cloak gratefully, swaying. The low illumination was bearable again by now, although his weariness makes it feel a little too bright. He takes a deep breath of cool air. "Thank you."
"Shall I draw a warm bath for you?" asks Kuretake, conscientious. Dr. Kayama had impressed severely upon them they were to take exquisite care of the young Nekozawa in the following weeks if he were to recover to the state he had been in before his attack.
"Yes, please. I will take it after I see Kirimi."
"Yes, oboucchama," says Kuretake politely, but her softened eyes are a little sad as she understands he means he wants to only look in on her and see she is alright.
Umehito heads toward the front room, meaning to get just a peek of his sister before he headed toward his bath. He didn't expect her to be halfway up the stairs, playing in front of his portrait. Having planned not to upset or startle her, Umehito jerks back frantically after a few steps into the room, when he realizes he is way too close to her to remain unobserved, and stumbles back down the hallway. He pauses for a second, recalling her happy giggling, and turns, satisfied Kirimi was happy and having fun.
He grimaces at the throbbing in his temples and feels sick to his stomach as he slowly walks down the hallway. He hurts. Umihito grits his teeth, dazedly reminding himself he can sleep after bathing-- he only has to reach the bathroom.
Clumsy with exhaustion and numb from mental turmoil, it takes Umehito a moment to realize a slight tug on the hem of his robes has stopped him in his tracks. "Mm?" Umehito half-turns, looking down in stunned disbelief at the small hand that has grasped him. "Ah..."
Kirimi...?
This is the first time, Umehito thinks, Kirimi looks at him like this, with a guileless, fearless curiosity.
The smile that blossoms on her face, shining toward him, melts straight through the cold walls that have coalesced in his heart over the past few days.
The strange, alien happiness that wells in his chest washes away the pained fear, depressed exhaustion, and nervous paranoia he had been bearing with tenacious stoicism, and touches him in an inexplicable way that makes him want to cry. This is the first time Kirimi has ever shown she might be able to love him too.
Umehito blinks back tears as he smiles tentatively back.
Sensei, it is worth it. Thank you-- for letting me live to see this.