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Cracking one eye open, Mitsuya is hit by sunlight streaming into the room. He groans inwardly, admonishing himself for forgetting to close the blinds. Though it’s not completely his fault, he supposes, since yesterday’s weather was nothing like today’s; there had been a heavy storm at noon that showed no sign of stopping even after he and Hakkai drifted off to sleep.
Despite the glaring brightness, Mitsuya decides he still isn’t ready to leave the comfort of bed. He lets his eyelids fall and he shifts slightly, pulling the thick blanket closer.
The second time he wakes, it’s to the garbled sound coming from his right—Hakkai’s side of the bed. A small smile appears on his face, and he untangles his arm from the blanket and throws it over his boyfriend’s waist.
The second it comes in contact with Hakkai’s skin, however, he immediately knows something is wrong. Mitsuya’s smile morphs into a bemused expression and he sits up, quickly wiping away the sleep in his eyes. He retracts his arm, and brings the back of his hand up to Hakkai’s forehead, sucking air between his teeth when he feels the heat it radiates.
“You’re really hot,” he says, and Hakkai lets out a chuckle, but it sounds tight and dry and does nothing but worry Mitsuya further.
“I’m a model. Don’t I have to be?”
“You dumbass, that’s not what I mean,” Mitsuya scolds, then he exhales and his voice softens. “You have a fever, darling. How long have you been awake?”
“An hour or so?”
“Hakkai.”
Hakkai holds his gaze, as if to say I’m telling the truth, Taka-chan! But before he can say anything to defend himself, his red-rimmed eyes widen slightly and he scrambles for the tissue on the bedside table. He sneezes loudly, and follows that with an equally loud moan of annoyance.
He visibly slumps, then, and he stares at Mitsuya with a look of resignation. “The sun was only beginning to come up, so since six, I guess.”
Guilt settles in Mitsuya’s gut when he realizes that it can’t be any earlier than ten, and that he could have helped sooner if he didn’t choose to doze off again.
“Why didn’t you get up and drink some medicine?” A beat of silence. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks instead.
“My muscles are achy,” Hakkai whines, and Mitsuya’s heart convulses. “And I wanted to stay with you, but didn’t want to wake you up. You seemed tired.”
Mitsuya rakes his eyes over the unusual pallor of Hakkai's skin and the sheet of sweat that coats his forehead, and does his best to push away his guilt, knowing it wouldn’t do good for either of them. Instead of lingering on it any longer, he gets out of bed, his socked feet hitting the cool wooden floor.
He pads across the bedroom, only looking back once his hand is on the doorknob. “Stay in bed,” he instructs Hakkai, who doesn’t say anything, but he snuggles into their soft lump of a blanket and hugs one of their many pillows against his chest. Mitsuya narrows his eyes and stands there, not quite buying the act, but after a while he closes the door behind him and makes his way to the kitchen.
Here, Mitsuya gathers what he needs, quickly moving from the refrigerator to the cupboard to the drawers below the counter. He places everything on the countertop and begins to work.
He opens a plastic container filled with rice and measures out the grains before dumping it into a bowl. He puts it under the running tap, rinsing until the cloudy water turns clear. He lets it soak for a few minutes, humming the tune of a song he can’t name, then he transfers the rice into the pot resting on the stove.
He pours some water, careful not to add too much—Hakkai would never settle for watery porridge.
On second thought, Mitsuya muses, he would; Hakkai wouldn't say anything upfront and accept the porridge with thanks, but he's never been very good at neutralizing his face. He'd frown and bite the insides of his cheeks and Mitsuya would notice he didn't like the meal, and though he'd protest if Mitsuya makes him something new, the sparkle in his eyes would say otherwise.
Mitsuya turns on the stove and covers the pot, grabbing a knife to chop spring onions and shred seaweed. For a moment, every thought fades from his mind, leaving him alone with the rhythmic clack of metal against chopping board and the bubbling of liquid.
And then he hears the slippers slapping the floorboards, the nasally voice carrying throughout the house. He points his head toward the ceiling and sighs. Of course.
“Yuzuha, I don’t have anything planned for today, do I? Ah, yes, well… I’ve got the flu—no! It’s not too bad, but I won’t be able to work with this. Could you reschedule the stuff for tomorrow, as well? Just in case, and if it isn’t much of a bother… Awesome! You’re the best! Don’t worry about me, though I sound really awful. You know how Taka-chan is, I’ll be better in no time! ...I love you too, bye!”
The call ends, and not long after Mitsuya feels two arms wrap around him. A bead of sweat trickles down his nape from the surrounding warmth.
“Taka-chan~” Hakkai singsongs. He tries saying it again, to get Mitsuya to stop chopping and turn around, but he’s cut short by a cough that escapes his throat. He steps away from Mitsuya without a second thought, and the crook of his arm is assaulted by a litany of coughs.
It doesn’t sound pleasant, and Hakkai mutters a low “Ugh, how disgusting” once his coughing fit subsides, but Mitsuya can’t erase the stupid little grin off his face. As he hears the running water and the wheezing of their nearly empty soap dispenser, all he can think about is how thoughtful Hakkai is, how kind.
Hakkai’s never been very vocal about his feelings. Even after all these years, Mitsuya is always the first one to say he loves him, and Hakkai’s ears turn pink while he mutters a quick and short I love you too.
But Mitsuya doesn’t mind. He has never questioned Hakkai’s love for him, for what he doesn’t say in words, he shows through his actions.
So when Hakkai lets go of his waist to do that god awful hacking, Mitsuya knows he’s really saying I love you, and love doesn’t have to be painful. I will step away because sickness comes with pain, and I don’t ever want to be the reason you feel that.
When Hakkai approaches him again and settles by his side, Mitsuya schools his features and puts on a stern look. “I vividly remember telling you to stay in bed.”
“But I missed you, Taka-chan! Won’t you allow me to stay here?” He lowers his head to meet Mitsuya at face level, and shoots him a dazzling smile.
“No.”
“Please?”
Mitsuya puts down the knife and flicks Hakkai on the forehead. Hakkai grunts, stepping back a bit.
“The nerve,” he tsks. “Did you forget how many times I’ve done this with Luna and Mana? You don’t faze me, darling.” He glares at Hakkai. “Go back and rest. Now.”
Hakkai purses his lips, but he soon acquiesces and drags himself—sore, heavy limbs and all—up the stairs and into their bedroom. Mitsuya watches him until the moment his feet lift from the top step.
It doesn’t take much longer for the porridge to start boiling. Mitsuya grabs a spoon, opens the lid, and stirs it once to check if any rice has stuck to the bottom. None. Thank God for small blessings, Mitsuya thinks.
He lets it simmer for half an hour, then he turns off the heat and scoops the porridge into a bowl. The steam it gives off warms his face, and Mitsuya breathes in the faint fragrance that always accompanies newly cooked rice.
He tops the porridge with the spring onion and seaweed, and takes a small tray from the kitchen rack once he’s finished. He loves Hakkai immensely and wants nothing more than to bring him food at this very moment, but he’d rather not scald his skin.
Slowly, he lifts the tray into his hands and climbs up the stairs, careful not to spill the food or trip and fall. He opens the bedroom door as soon as he reaches it, and he cringes when it creaks.
Hakkai lies unmoving on the bed, bundled up in their thick blanket. Mitsuya quietly approaches and he places the tray down on his bedside table. He then takes the time to stare at his boyfriend. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the blue hair that fans across his pillow, his long eyelashes, the scar at the corner of his mouth.
Mitsuya’s ribcage feels tight, as if it cannot contain the overwhelming swell of emotion that fills his racing heart.
It is this that makes him sit down on the bed, teetering on the edge, and put his hand on Hakkai’s arm—at least what he thinks is Hakkai’s arm. The blanket obscures everything but his head, so it’s impossible for him to know for sure.
He shakes Hakkai slightly. “Wake up, your porridge will go cold.”
Hakkai shifts, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “M’sleepy.”
“It has lots of seaweed,” Mitsuya says.
This has Hakkai’s eyes shooting open. “Oh, well, I guess sleep can wait.” He pulls his arms free from his cocoon and tries to sit up, but they give out and he falls back onto the mattress. Hakkai groans and releases a shaky breath. “I hate the flu.”
“And yet you still got up and went to the kitchen.” Mitsuya extends both of his hands to Hakkai. “Come on. I’ll pull you up.”
Mitsuya pulls him up, and when they’re close enough Mitsuya puts a hand on the small of Hakkai’s back. He takes the pillow from behind and props it against the headboard for Hakkai to rest against, and he waits until Hakkai has adjusted to the change in position before fishing his hand away.
He reaches toward the table and takes the bowl into one of his hands, its sides now cool enough to do nothing more than pleasantly heat his palm. He then scoops some porridge using the spoon he’s holding on another hand, and pokes it at Hakkai’s lips. “Open up.”
“I can feed myself, Taka-chan. You don’t have to do all this for me,” Hakkai mutters, the corners of his lips downturned.
“You tried to sit up on your own and failed miserably. You cannot possibly pick up this spoon without getting rice all over yourself, ” Mitsuya deadpans. “But also, I want to do this for you. It isn’t the burden you think it is, so don’t be so stubborn, darling. Open up.”
With some reluctance and noticeably redder cheeks, Hakkai lets Mitsuya slip the spoon into his mouth. Mitsuya can pinpoint the exact moment the flavor bursts across Hakkai’s tongue because his eyes widen and he hums in delight, as if Mitsuya’s cooking is the best thing that has ever happened to him.
“So good, Taka-chan.” Hakkai grins at him.
“I would hope so, seeing that we’ve known each other for more than two decades now. Even if we hadn’t, we’ve been together for five years. Enough time for me to figure out all your insane food choices, I believe,” Mitsuya replies. “Jesus, Hakkai. Look at all this seaweed.”
“You put those on the porridge yourself,” Hakkai points out, still smiling. “You call my food preferences insane, but you clearly still put up with them.”
Mitsuya sighs heavily. Fondly. “Yes, well, I love you, don’t I?”
Hakkai doesn’t reply. Instead, he lets out a small squeak, and he squeezes his eyes shut. A minute passes before he opens them again. “You do, I guess.” A beat. “Can—can I have more porridge now, please?”
It’s Mitsuya’s turn to grin at him. “Of course, darling.” His tone is awfully chipper as he presses a new spoonful to Hakkai’s mouth, and Hakkai doesn’t meet his gaze, opting to stare at the blanket draped over himself until the spoon clanks against the empty bowl.
Hakkai looks at him, then, wordlessly staring as Mitsuya stands from the bed and places the bowl back on the tray. When he turns around, Hakkai’s already lying down, and he scoots over to make space for Mitsuya when he climbs into bed again.
Mitsuya props his head on his palm and silently regards Hakkai for some time. He’s relieved to see some color restored to Hakkai’s complexion. He presses a hand to his forehead, and is relieved to find that his temperature has gone down a bit, as well. Mitsuya brushes away a stray lock of hair from Hakkai’s face and leans in closer when Hakkai brings a hand up to his face, preventing Mitsuya from moving any further.
Mitsuya frowns. “I was going to kiss you, you know.”
“I know, and that’s why my hand is blocking your face right now. You can’t kiss me. You’re going to get sick.”
“Hakkai—”
“No. Seriously, Taka-chan,” Hakkai cuts him off. “Weren’t you an honor student? You should know that the flu can spread by kissing.”
Mitsuya tries to pry the hand away from his face, but it doesn’t budge; if anything, Hakkai’s muscles just tense further, and Mitsuya is forced to let go. He sighs, but not without inwardly acknowledging how strong Hakkai is even when sick. His brain fogs.
“Influenza viruses are transmitted via droplets made by a person with flu when they cough or sneeze or talk—”
“Or kiss,” Hakkai supplies helpfully.
“Or kiss,” Mitsuya grumbles. “But what I mean to say is, I could get the virus even if we don’t kiss. In fact, it’d be more likely if I got it way before a kiss. We haven’t really distanced ourselves from each other,” he says pointedly, staring down the palm in front of him.
Mitsuya’s words seem to catch Hakkai off guard, since his fingers fold and his arm tilts. Mitsuya grabs the opportunity and pulls it away from his face, and Hakkai shouts indignantly. “Hey!”
“Come on, Hakkai. Just a peck.”
“Nope.”
“Fine.” Mitsuya glares at him. “On the cheek, then?” He offers.
Hakkai remains silent, and Mitsuya notes—rather smugly—the conflict in his eyes. After a long pause, he huffs. “Whatever you want.”
Delightedly, Mitsuya kisses him on the cheek, but he doesn’t pull away. It’s only when Hakkai starts to repeatedly nudge an elbow into his ribs does he stop lingering.
“Too long.” Hakkai shoots him a disapproving look. “I should’ve known you’d do that.”
“Darling, I promise you, there are worse things in the world than me getting the flu.”
Hakkai seems to ponder on this. “I suppose there are. After all, if you get sick, I can cook you porridge.”
Mitsuya winces. “No offense, but I’d rather have takeout.”
Hakkai feigns hurt. “You wound me.”
“I am simply recalling the time you tried to cook me pancakes and forgot about them, so when you remembered and checked on them they were so incredibly charred they stuck to the pan.”
Mitsuya laughs as Hakkai’s cheeks flame. “I’ll order you anything you want just so you don’t bring that up again.”
Mitsuya considers this. “Just katsudon would be fine,” he ends up saying. A soft smile tugs at his lips at Hakkai’s evident relief. Slowly, he moves to the edge of the bed and gets out.
“Where are you going?” Hakkai asks, his arm extending in an attempt to grab ahold of Mitsuya’s shirt. Much to his disappointment, Mitsuya swerves, and his fingers clench at nothing.
Mitsuya picks up the tray from the bedside table. “I have to wash the dishes.” He glances at Hakkai, who is sulking like a dog left home alone. “Don’t be like that, darling. This won’t even take five minutes.”
“Promise to come back right after.”
“I promise,” Mitsuya replies. “We can cuddle, too, to make sure I get my katsudon and all that. But for now,” he drawls, facing Hakkai. “You are going to stay in bed. I swear to the gods above, Hakkai, if you get out of there I’ll chop your hair off so unevenly you lose your job.”
Hakkai isn’t even fazed. He nods, and buries himself under the blanket. Mitsuya rushes through the dishes, and clambers back up the bed just as quickly.
Mitsuya ends up getting the flu, but with Hakkai and fantastic takeout by his side, well. There are worse things in the world.