The next morning, Ryoma actually wakes long before the others. His eyes open slowly, the room still dim, morning light slipping through the curtains in thin gray lines.
He breathes in, then out, and waits for that horrible spinning sensation to hit. But nothing comes, no dizziness, no pressure, no stabbing headache.
There's only a dull ache in his muscles from overtraining and the faint exhaustion that always comes after pushing too far.
He lifts his head experimentally, and the ceiling doesn't sway this time. The walls don't breathe. Everything stays still, steady, and normal.
A quiet sigh leaves him, half relief, half frustration. "So I really just passed out like an idiot…"
When he turns his head, he finds Hiroshi sitting beside the futon, asleep, slumped against the wall, arms crossed, chin resting on his chest. The guy must've stayed up half the night.
Ryoma shifts slightly, and Hiroshi's eyes snap open.
"You awake?" he asks, gently rubbing his eyes.
