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“Achoo!”
It was just Akutagawa’s luck really. Or his lack of luck, more so. Not only was he suffering from his first full-on case of the flu since he was a child (as opposed to his usually persistent cough and general sore throat), but he’d just had to come down with it smack dab in the middle of Yokohama’s worst winter in a century (or so the radio announcer kept saying). A winter that had the whole port coated in a heavy layer of white snow and a city-wide power outage that left them entirely without electricity or heat to boot.
After Atsushi’d gotten home from the Agency that evening (whose building magically did have power, go figure) - banging his heavy winter boats on the raggedy mat in the genkan and letting a blast of cold air into the stuffy, airtight apartment - they’d managed to make some chicken noodle soup from the can on a small, old camping stove Atsushi had packed away in the bottom of a box in their storage locker. Akutagawa had no clue why Atsushi would even be in possession of such a thing, but he didn’t feel like his meager curiosity on the subject was worth the trouble to go about asking into it.
He was probably only interested in the oddity because there was nothing else available to stave off the boredom, anyways. Obviously the TV was unusable, and after listening to the same radio show repeat itself for the third time on the wind-up Akutagawa had had to turn it off. He’d contemplated reading, but it was too dark out to see the pages. And they were on their last candle, so he didn’t want to waste the wax unless it was absolutely necessary. They didn’t know how long it would be until the power finally came back on, and it had already been two days. Atsushi, the idiot, hadn’t thought to buy batteries before the storm came crashing in - even though the Weather Network had been warning them about it for a week beforehand - so their flashlights were completely out of commission too.
“Here,” comes Atsushi’s voice, breaking into Akutagawa’s thoughts. He’s much closer than he’d been just a moment before, as he leans over the corner of the tabletop to swipe under Akutagawa’s red and running nose with a tissue. The movement is too fast for Akutagawa’s dimmed perception and slowed reaction-time to defend against. He manages to shove the offending hand away eventually, but at that point Atsushi has already managed to accomplish his goal.
“Jinggo-!” Cries Akutagawa, thankful that the darkness of the room obscured the way his cheeks begin to heat. “Stob doing thab. I’m nob a child.” And then, “Shub up!” when he hears the muffled laughter coming from Atsushi’s side of the kotatsu.
“Ibt’s nob funny.” He all but growls, leveling a glare at Atsushi’s retreating figure as the other man moves to clear off the table and bring their dirty dishes into the kitchen. And while he knows Atsushi can’t see the look per say, he intentionally puts as much Killing Intent into it as he can, hoping that Atsushi can at least feel the eyes throwing knives into his back.
“Never said it was, Ryuu-kun.” Comes Atsushi reply, and goddammit, Akutagawa can hear the smile in his voice.
Akutagawa just lets out a huffed sound at that, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his body up into a tight ball on the cold floor. All this arguing has warmed him up slightly (what with all the frustration and tension and god-awful embarrassment of all things) and he wiggles his numb fingers and toes as feeling begins to slowly seep back into them.
“C’mere,” murmurs Atsushi, seemingly completely unfazed by Akutagawa’s sour mood as he bundles the futon, stolen from the (currently non-heating) kotatsu, around Akutagawa’s shoulders. Akutagawa freezes as he feels Atsushi slip beneath the warmth of the heavy blanket to wrap his arms around Akutagawa’s middle, chin resting on a shoulder as they sit there, huddled together. Normally Akutagawa wouldn’t let Atsushi get away with this, but Akutagawa is cold and sick and tired. That’s the only reason why he’s permitting Atsushi to hold him so closely - he swears.
It’s then that Akutagawa realizes he’s been shivering this entire time, his shaking body a sharp contrast to the warm, still one wrapped around him. He leans his head against the top of Atsushi’s, who’s still resting his own in the crook of Akutagawa’s neck. And Atsushi responds by squeezing their bodies closer together, Akutagawa’s back pressed tightly against Atsushi’s chest.
“I’m sorry about the batteries.” Whispers Atsushi, his lips now only a hair’s breadth away from Akutagawa’s ear, his cold nose bumping against the shell of it.
“Ibt’s fine.” Sighs Akutagawa eventually - even though he’s still slightly ticked off about the whole thing - wiggling his nose in a futile attempt to clear it somewhat. He breathes out of his mouth in resignation when his efforts do absolutely nothing.
“Hmm,” is the only sound of Atsushi’s reply, as if he knows. But he doesn’t say anything more, and they fall into a (dare he say) peaceful silence as their combined body heat manages to slowly ease the shivering of Akutagawa’s frame underneath the blanket.
Once he’s finally stopped shaking, and sensation starts to return to all his extremities, Akutagawa feels Atsushi’s fingers move to play with the ratty hem of his t-shirt before slipping underneath. “At least this way you can’t ignore me for one of your books like you usually do."
And Akutagawa thinks he should turn around and snap back a scathing retort at that. But he knows it’s more likely to make Atsushi laugh than anything else, what with the way Akutagawa’s nose is stuffed up right now; so he stays silent instead. The night is still frigid, after all. And Atsushi's embrace is rather warm. So, Akutagawa decides, it’s better to stay put - just this once anyways. Outside the snow continues to fall.