Work Text:
There's something warm and fluffy wrapped around him, and for a moment he thinks, wow, his tits really do protect me from the cold. It's a millisecond later he realizes two things: a) his boyfriend may have been beefy as fuck, but his chest wouldn't be that big, and definitely not as big as whatever's around him. b) He did not recall falling asleep next to Keiji, which meant --
He jolts up, and sure enough the warm, fluffy thing covering him is not Keiji's muscular chest ( unfortunately ), but a comforter. He wasn't asleep in his chair again, slumped over his keyboard like last time, but in a warm and cozy bed. Meaning that he had not completed his work last night.
Sometimes having a caring boyfriend fucking sucked.
Alright, he hadn't finished it overnight, but he could complete it now, right? Working in daylight was probably way better, and this time Keiji would be busy all day, so he wasn't there to stop him from "overworking" himself. If he finished early enough, too, he could do something dumb, like try and make dinner for the both of them ( though he's aware the last time he attempted that, they needed to buy a new rice-cooker. )
Sou sits up -- and immediately regrets it, the world spinning for a few moments before he falls back onto the bed again.
What the fuck.
He sits up again -- less of a punch to the brain, though it still takes him a few moments to get used to the vertigo that comes with sitting upright. He sniffles, pulling the comforter tighter around himself ( like a cape in one of Kanna's superhero stories, almost.. ), and stumbles off the bed and onto the floor, nausea hitting him again, this time strong enough to make him fall flat on his face with a small thud!
Ah, so he was sick. Well. He'd manage to work through it.
"Fuck," he mutters, and he isn't surprised to hear how scratchy his voice is. He isn't sure how he's going to get around exactly, if he couldn't even fucking stand without falling flat on his face. He could drag himself around his apartment if it really was impossible to walk, but that seemed ridiculous.
Did he have any dignity left that would be ruined if he did ? Debatable. Is his work that important for him to go to all that trouble? Fuck no, it wasn't, but the salary sure was and if he's learned anything over the years it's that he'd rather not go back to job-hunting again.
"If I can't get up this time, I don't think Keiji will mind me having a flat face." He huffs, before placing his hands on the floor and pushing himself up again, slowly but surely standing up. Well, that was fucking that. He leaves the comforter where it is on the floor -- that thing was nothing but dead weight.
He slowly trudges into the bathroom, knocking over a few things and breaking them in the process, gripping the sink once he's inside and daring to look into the mirror. He winces. He didn't really consider himself good-looking to begin with -- no, that was more Keiji's role, with his perfect jawline and perfect body and dumb perfect hair.
In the mirror his paler than usual face stares back at him, and Sou thinks, jesus fuck. Washing his face and brushing his teeth doesn't do much to change that, either, and he decides to just get on with his day before he spends too much time judging himself.
Feet carry him to the kitchen -- this time with less stumbling and tripping, too, slowly becoming more awake -- and he makes himself two cups of coffee. One for the sickness, and one to make him feel less like a bag of shit and more like a caffeinated bag of shit.
He spots a sticky note or two on the fridge, and squints to read it, sipping from both mugs simultaneously. 'You're sick.' No shit. 'Get some rest, alright? Don't drink any coffee, break anything, or even try and do any work today.' Keiji knows him so well -- he's already done two out of three of those already and it wasn't even -- eleven am? Who fucking knew.
'I tried to take the day off but it didn't really work out. Sorry I can't be there. There's some breakfast in the fridge.' He pauses. "..hngh." There's a small twinge of guilt in his stomach, and he considers recovering completely today.
He wasn't an angel, or some nice pretty boy in an anime or game -- Sou knew that. He did feel bad . Awful, even, whenever he did nice things like this. At first he couldn't even understand it, even though they were dating ( yeah, he was a hell of a mess. ) It just made him feel flustered and weird and confused to see someone care about him like that.
It was different from how Kanna worried over him, too. There was just this pang in his chest that hit whenever Keiji fussed over him that way that wasn't the same when Kanna made sure he was doing okay, which in hindsight was silly at the time considering he was supposed to be the older brother there.
The reason he felt so awful was because it...hurt? Or not hurt. It was...nice, having someone care about you that much, though he'd never admit that to Keiji's face. ever. It was nice having someone you loved fuss over you, but it made him feel really guilty when he pulled shit like this and pushed himself to work despite the other not wanting him to.
He sighs, and stares at the notes, and the dumb little heart scribbled on the corner, and then into the next room where his laptop sat on a table, directly in his line of sight. Maybe he could take a day off? Granted he'd be submitting his work way past its deadline, and he'd probably face the consequences for it, but --
"Who the fuck am I kidding." He sets his mugs down on the counter. Fuck it. He probably was already enough of a burden on Keiji with his shit salary doing oh-so-much to help pay off rent and groceries and everything. There was no way in hell he'd make that worse by delaying his work.
He marches out of the kitchen, grabs his laptop, and sets it down on the table, plugging the charger in place of the microwave's wire.
He'd get this fucking bread, and he'd do it without Keiji realizing he'd worked at all. This seemed like a completely reasonable plan.
Sou presses the power button and takes a sip out of one of the mugs. His face scrunches up as the caffeine passes through his lips. An awful, disgusting taste considering his health state at the moment, but it already gives him a jolt of energy he desperately needs to get through the day ( which isn’t possible considering the time that elapsed and the amount taken, but he supposes it’s sort of like a placebo effect. )
“Seventy pages worth of coding, here we go,” he mumbles. Time to get to work.
♦
“Finally...” he hits save and sends his work over to his employer, abruptly standing up. He lets out a groan at the massive headache that comes along with doing so, and clutches his head. He severely underestimated the amount of caffeine he’d need to get through all this...work. Or maybe he over estimated. He couldn’t really tell. After five cups he sort of started to black out and, let’s face it, that’s when shit hit the fan.
He glances around the apartment, trying not to let out a snort. The whole place looked like how he felt, a result of his desperate scramble for a mood/energy-booster so that he could finish his work on time, as well as the process of finishing said work.
Coffee wasn’t cutting it, so he’d started looking for alternatives, and ultimately that led to...him now. During the seven or so hours he’d spent coding, other than completing his work, he had:
- Migrated over to the living room and turned the couch into a “thinking fortress”
- Spilled a quarter of the coffee he’d made onto the tiled floor in the kitchen
- Eaten three cookies and two spoonfuls of sugar
- Fought with his beanie at least seven times
- Rummaged through the medicine cabinet, realized he couldn’t be bothered, and given up
- None of which in that order
He pauses, noticing the small note on the counter he’d read in the morning. A small frown crosses his face and a small panic sets in as he fully comprehends the situation. Shit. God, fuck. He was an awful boyfriend. Scratch that, an awful human being overall ( neither realizations were something he didn’t already know, though. )
Sou didn’t listen to Keiji’s request, not from the very start, and now on top of all of that he’s turned the apartment inside out. “..ahh, shit.” He grabs at his beanie only to tug at green locks of hair, seeing as his beanie is not on top of his head, but in fact flung on top of the fridge.
His frown deepens. He feels awful. Worse than he already felt from his illness, worse than he felt in the morning. Sou feels sick, but now it’s a ‘sick-to-the-stomach’ type of thing. Guilt fills him from head to toe. Maybe he should have listened to Keiji. maybe he should have just stayed in bed, instead of giving Keiji ten whole other problems aside from the permanent mess that was himself.
“...I...no, wait.” He could fix this. He could clean this up. It wasn’t that bad, right? He’s cleaned up worse. The only thing that was hindering him now was his fever, right? As if that would stop him. No fucking way. He’d be a responsible ass adult and clean up the place, tuck away his laptop into the depths of hell otherwise known as his side of the closet, and then get into bed.
The perfect crime -- Keiji would never know. And Aou could recover peacefully after that, just in time for Keiji to come home, only to find him fast asleep and perfectly healthy. “Right. Right. I can do this, without causing any more pro--” He sways a little as he speaks, and his elbow bumps against the sugar jar, sending it crashing to the floor.
..okay, one more tiny mess to clean up, adding onto everything else. Now he can get to work.
♦
His usually sharp wit and level-headed thinking fails to function properly because of the fact that his body was literally murdering him from the inside, and once again he both overestimates his capability to and underestimates the difficulty of cleaning up in his current state. Way to fucking go, Sou.
The cookie & sugar jars and the fortress in the living room were the easiest to take care of, and yet it had taken him much longer than he normally would have needed to clean it all up. “Hhhh…” He leans against a wall grasping at his shirt. He won’t lie -- this time -- he feels like he’s going to collapse and fall into hell at any moment now from how exhausted he feels.
Sou glances over to the kitchen. “...but I can’t stop now.” He can’t, and he won’t. He’ll work through it, just like he did earlier on in the day -- and then he’ll rest. Or lie in his grave. Same difference. He needs to be more responsible. More hard-working. He needs to be...well, he needs to be like Keiji.
“How do I…how do I ge...get into the mindset of...a tall, hunky, hot and….bad...taste in men mindset…” Maybe he repeated a word or two, maybe his sentence was very badly broken, but he supposes the wheezes and coughs in between his words make up for that. His eyes trail over to the bathroom. “...aha.”
♦
If Keiji said that he didn’t trust his boyfriend, then he’d sound like a complete and utter asshole. If he said that he didn’t trust his boyfriend to look after himself while he was sick, then would that make him more, or less of an asshole?
Either way, he practically sprints home the moment his shift is over, causing a few looks to be sent his way. He spares no time to stop and buy the keychain that he told Joe about, no time to stop and play with the stray dog on the street, and definitely no time at all to even acknowledge the women eyeing him, though he really wouldn’t acknowledge them even if he did have the time.
His only focus is to get to their apartment as soon as possible. Even if he is an asshole for thinking it, if he knows his boyfriend -- and which he does -- then he’s going to come home to either the apartment in flames, Sou’s laptop in flames, or his beanie in flames. Or all three. Or something else on fire. Maybe the rice-cooker again.
Keiji fumbles for his key once he enters the building and climbs the stairs, pushing it into the lock of their door and turning it.
The first thing he notes is the absence of smoke, and the smell of it, which registers in his tired brain as “good.” The second thing he notes is how clean the apartment is, how neat and tidy. Too neat and tidy, in fact, because he can smell the chemicals in the air that weren’t there in the morning.
“Sou…?” He takes his shoes off and sets aside his things, shutting the door behind him. Keiji doesn’t hear a response. Was he sleeping? His eyes go over to the table in the living room -- just as he thought. The laptop isn’t there where he left it; there’s no way in hell he rested at all today. “Sou,” he tries again. “I’m home.”
This time, he hears a very faint, very wobbly, “In here--” from the bathroom. Keiji’s feet move so fast he swears they leave an after image. He stands in front of the bathroom door, not entirely shut, but closed just enough that he can’t see in without opening the door. “Are you okay, babe?” His hand rests on the wall next to the door.
He takes note of the fact that the smell of chemicals are stronger here. Did he clean the bathroom…? He really needed to stress what he meant by ‘rest’ the next time he left Sou home alone sick. “I’m --” Sou sniffles, and there’s a twinge in Keiji’s chest at that. “I’m okay. Mayb...no. No! KEIJI, IT’S SO AWFUL.” He doesn’t wait a second later and practically slams the door open --
“Oh my god, Sou.”
Keiji really didn’t know what to expect. Definitely something bad, something awful from the way Sou was acting, and his outburst. But nothing could prepare him for the sight of Sou cross-legged on the floor, hair bleach and numerous boxes of dye next to him.
And of course, then there was Sou himself. Paler than he was in the morning, made more visible by the fact that half his hair was now a shocking blonde, similar to Keiji’s own hair.
He struggles not to laugh, especially not when Sou’s at the verge of tears. He doesn’t really succeed, laughs escaping him, causing Sou to send him a withering glare. It takes him a few minutes to stop laughing all together, and he lowers himself, sitting next to Sou.
“What…” He clears his throat, determined not to let out a single chuckle. “What...happened?” Sou doesn’t lose his glare, crossing his arms and looking to the side to glare at the bleach instead. “...you’ll laugh again. N-no fucking way am I-am I telling you.” Keiji takes Sou’s hands in his. “Come on, please? I promise I won’t.”
Sou sighs, still not looking at him. “...I...worked.” Keiji frowns a little, but doesn’t say anything just yet. “And -- I turned the apartment into a wolf den. And I felt bad because I...well, I don’t need to tell you. You’re smart enough.” Keiji nods, and he succeeds in getting Sou to at least turn his head in his direction.
“So I cleaned up...halfway. and then I…got really tired. and I was gonna quit right then and there, but then my inner conscious kicked me in the ass and reminded me that I couldn’t keep pulling this clownery without at least cleaning up. And that I needed to be more responsible. Cool-headed...like you.”
Sou mumbles the last part, probably intending for Keiji to miss it. Keiji pretends like he doesn’t hear it in that moment, even though he’s obviously grinning. “So you...dyed your hair, and then cleaned up the rest of the apartment. How does dyeing your hair exactly --”
“I -- I know you heard me the first time!” Sou looks him in the eye now, huffing. “I don’t fucking know, I was delirious and exhausted and guilty, and that is not a great combo, and kept trying to think of ways to be more like my dumb, smartass, cool, sexy boyfriend, and I guess my mind just --” He gestures at his hair. “Went to that.
“And now I -- I look so bad, and awful, and I couldn’t even keep it a secret from you that I ignored your note -- and I look so ugly , and I feel so, so, tired, and hungry -- and now I sound like a goddamn toddler. And now you’re gonna laugh again.”
Keiji sighs, and while he is grinning a little, he congratulates himself on not laughing fully, like an asshole would. “I won’t. I’m not. See?”
“You’re grinning.”
“I’m not -- I’m not laughing.”
“You’re fucking grinning, Keiji.”
“I’m not going to laugh, even though...I really want to --” Sou flicks his forehead. “Okay, I deserved that. But…” He takes his hands again. “Really, Sou, I’m not...mad, or going to laugh at you, or anything stupid you’d expect of a high school bully, and not your very much grownup boyfriend.” Sou lets out a snort.
“I guess I...was overreacting..” Keiji chuckles quietly. “Maybe a little. I’ll be honest, I’m upset you didn’t take a sick day and just rest -- not because of what happened, but because you’re shivering right now.” His frown reappears, and he puts the back of his hand against Sou’s forehead. “But,” he continues, picking Sou up now, much to his surprise and protest.
“I’m glad you didn’t go with your ‘hide-the-truth-from-Keiji’ plan and told me outright what happened, very proud that you still cleaned up the place...probably better than I do on most days, and...well.” Keiji smiles. “Very happy that you think of me as a ‘smartass, cool, sexy boyfriend.’”
Sou huffs, though a tired smile forms on his face. “...maybe. Could just be the sickness speaking.” Keiji lets out a snort. “Sure thing. Which means..” He sets him down on their bed, and pulls the blanket over him. “You’re going to get your rest. And next time, let’s just stay in bed from the start, yeah? We’ll do something about your hair when you’re better.”
“Okay.” Sou pauses for a moment, and looks up at him. “...love you, Keiji.” His cheeks flush red as he says it. Keiji leans down and gives him a kiss on the head. “Love you too, Sou. Now rest up, kay?”
..
“I look like a clown, though, don’t I.”
“You look like a very sexy clown.”
“You’re a fucking liar.”
“Yeah, well, you too, babe.”