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When Yashiki woke up that morning, he knew something was off- and by 10 AM, he had figured out why.
“Where are you?” Mashita’s gruff voice came through the speaker on his phone, causing him to wince. “You’re late as hell.”
“Can’t come today,” he muttered, a pillow over his eyes. “Migraine.”
“Couldn’t have called earlier?” Mashita sounded mildly annoyed, but Yashiki detected a slight amount of concern in his voice. “Don’t you have any painkillers for those?”
“Unfortunately not,” the light from his phone was leaking through the sides of the pillow, sending waves of pain through his skull. “Okay, I’m hanging up before the light kills me. Here’s to hoping I am still alive to work tomorrow.”
“Fat chance I’d let you die,” Mashita’s voice was hard to make out at that point. “I’m on my way.”
“You’re- you’re what?” he said uselessly, as Mashita had already hung up. He groaned, pulling the pillow further over his face. “This man will be the death of me.”
He burrowed further into the covers, trying desperately to ignore the growing tickle in his throat. That was the other clue that he was going to be miserable; his sinuses had felt uncomfortably full, and breathing through his nose became a chore. And with most colds came a migraine for Yashiki. In other words, absolutely awful.
He closed his eyes firmly (but not too tightly, as that made it worse) and tried to sleep; maybe that would ease the skull-splitting pain that was invading his entire stream of consciousness.
And he seemed to have succeeded, because he woke up a few hours later, mildly disoriented and the pain slightly lessened.
“Time is it…” he fumbled around the bed for his phone, when a nearby voice made him jump out of his skin.
“Ten after one,” it said, and Yashiki turned to look at the source. Mashita. Of course. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like hell,” Yashiki laid back, closing his eyes again. “Migraine still here.”
“Your voice sounds like shit,” Mashita commented, setting down his case notes. “Catching a cold, then?”
Yashiki nodded in response, pulling the blanket up over his head. “Unfortunately.”
He could hear Mashita stand up and leave the room, only to return a few minutes later.
“Sit up,” he commanded. “Brought you painkillers.”
Yashiki slowly lowered the blanket covering his face, looking up to see Mashita holding one hand out and a glass of water in the other. His face wasn’t particularly comforting, but definitively softer than usual. Yashiki pushed himself up- again, not too quickly- and accepted the two blue pills and the water.
“Thank you,” he said after taking them, setting the glass on his nightstand. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here for that.”
Mashita snorted. “Yeah, right, and let you sit and suffer by yourself?” He shook his head, heading back to the desk he had been at previously. “Knew your dumbass wouldn’t ask for help if you were literally dying, so I took it upon myself to come anyway.”
“I think I can deal with a migraine on my own,” he protested, laying back down. “I’ve had one or two in my lifetime.”
“Yeah, says the idiot who doesn’t even keep Tylenol in his house,” Mashita retorted, looking down at the case files he’d brought with him. “Go back to sleep. Tell me if you need me.”
Yashiki watched as he swiveled the chair back towards the desk, focusing on his papers. It was a rare instance where Yashiki didn’t feel terribly guilty about watching him; usually, he was at the detective office with him and was supposed to be actually working or whatever. Now, however, he didn’t have anything to do but watch the detective from across the darkened room.
He briefly wondered how Mashita was even able to see- reading in the dark would strain his eyes, and given his own disdain for glasses as someone who had been wearing them for a majority of his life, he couldn’t even imagine how someone like Mashita would be able to deal with them.
“You can read in another room,” he offered quietly. “‘s bad for your eyes.”
Mashita waved his hand, not looking back at Yashiki. “Not a big deal.”
He really should have known. Mashita would never say it outright, but Yashiki knew that he was somewhat of a worrywart, and overprotective to boot; there was no way he was leaving without being absolutely certain that Yashiki was well. And so he sat across the room, ruining his damn eyes.
His damn bedroom eyes, Yashiki thought briefly. He traced the curve of Mashita’s slightly hunched shoulders with his eyes, wishing idly that standing up and walking over to him wouldn’t absolutely ruin any progress he’d made on his migraine. Which, admittedly, wasn’t much, but he didn’t want to aggravate it nonetheless.
Then softly- “Mashita, hold me.”
Mashita audibly choked. “I- what?”
“Want you to come lay with me,” Yashiki said. “It’s not like you haven’t been in my bed before.”
He laughed, swiveling his chair back around. “I guess that’s true,” he stood up, loosening his tie. “Scoot over, then.”
“Wait, really?” Yashiki hadn’t really expected him to agree, especially not so readily, but he wasn’t about to complain.
Mashita settled himself in next to Yashiki, who immediately moved to rest his head on his chest. Moving an arm around Yashiki’s back, Mashita hummed contentedly. In that moment, Yashiki could have died happy.
Instead, however, he fell asleep there, curled onto Mashita, who had drifted off at some point as well. Yashiki woke up a while later, the migraine all but entirely gone. Whether that was thanks to the several hour nap, the painkillers, Mashita, or a combination of the three, Yashiki didn’t know, but he was grateful regardless.
He did wonder about the time, but didn’t want to move from his rather comfortable position atop Mashita’s chest, or worse, wake up the other man. God knows that he especially did not want to have Mashita leave; the mansion was large, empty, and very lonely.
“How’s that migraine?”
Or not.
“Better,” he replied. “It’s still kind of there, but definitely better.”
Mashita drew up his wrist, squinting at his watch. “Huh, six PM,” he noted, laying his head back down. “...did you eat today?”
“No,” Yashiki told him. “Better question- did you?”
He snorted, resting his cheek against the top of Yashiki’s head. “Know me too well, I see,” absentmindedly kissing him. “Take out?”
“Sounds good to me.”