Chapter Text
It all began on Monday, Kojiro was in the bathroom getting ready for the day, and he instinctively reached for the bottle of medication that he kept beside the sink. When he felt nothing, he looked down, confused, and realized that his pills weren't there.
This wasn't good.
He searched the whole area, in the cabinets, even inside the shower! But his anti-depressants were nowhere to be found.
After combing through the entire bathroom again, he stood up and ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath as he tried to remember where he'd last seen the blue and white bottle. In his bag? In the kitchen? He was still pondering this when he heard Miya shout, "DAAAAD, HURRY UP OR ELSE WE'LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL," from downstairs.
Kojiro gulped and took a deep breath, then he shook his head rapidly to clear his mind. He could go a day without his anti-depressants, it wasn't like skipping one measly day would be the end of the world..
Yeah.. he'd be fine!
"ALRIGHT, GO GET IN THE CAR, I'M COMING," He leaned out the door and shouted down the stairs, then he went back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror one last time, his worry now replaced with determination.
He was going to be fine.
The next day, Tuesday, Kojiro hadn't found his medicine. But he was going to be fine, he didn't have any groceries or anything else to do today, and it was Karou's turn to drop the kids off at school, so all he really had to do was go to therapy.
Speaking of therapy, during his session today, Dr. Māhoe talked to him about coping mechanisms.
"So.." Dr. Māhoe had asked him tentatively, "You, stress cook?"
"No. Stress bake, specifically bake," Kojiro replied as-a-matter-of-factly, "once I made three batches of cupcakes in a row, then Karou found me and made me put the bowl down."
His doctor simply nodded, and did that doctor-ish thing of going, "Uh-Huh, alright."
"Is there something wrong?" Kojiro asked, and the doctor shook her head, "Oh no! Your coping mechanism doesn't hurt you or anybody else, and psychologists say that cooking and baking is actually a good stress reliever, so it's completely fine."
"Oh," Kojiro replied, grinning, "That's good then!"
"But," Dr. Māhoe continued, "I would like to talk about another type of coping: Self-Recording."
Kojiro blinked, "So-" He mused, "You want me to record myself talking? Like, 'Hey Kojiro, it's me Kojiro'..?"
The doctor shrugged, "Well, that's a way of putting it," and Kojiro leaned forward in his seat and stared at her.
"That sounds.. dumb."
"Look, I know it sounds strange," Dr. Māhoe chuckled, "But, hearing your thoughts played back to you gives you some perspective! As though someone else were talking."
"Okay, you're the doctor here.."
"Yes, I am," Dr. Māhoe said, "Also, while we're here, have you been taking your anti-depressants consistently?"
Kojiro froze, then he smiled nervously and chuckled a bit, "Y-Yes! I have been, they're working well!"
On Wednesday, Kojiro still hadn't found his medicine, and he was starting to feel the effects of not taking them. He'd woken up feeling like he had the flu, with nausea, stomach pains, and a pounding headache that wouldn't go away no matter what he tried or what tea Karou made him.
His anxiety was also rearing its ugly head again, no matter what he tried he couldn't get himself to sleep, but he also couldn't concentrate on anything playing on the TV or his phone.
And by Thursday, he might as well have been a dead man. He felt awful, he looked awful, and he STILL hadn't found that stupid bottle of pills. He was in his and Karou's bedroom, the lights turned off, curtains shut tight, and trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep when he heard the door open slowly and footsteps pad in.
"Kojiro?" Karou's soft voice filtered through the air to his ears, and Kojiro sat up in bed wearily as Karou moved to sit beside him.
"Hey.." Kojiro replied, smiling weakly at Karou's black silhouette through the darkness of the bedroom, and he felt his husband's hand move to caress his face, "How're you doing?" Karou asked, and Kojiro shrugged, leaning into his touch.
"I don't feel like death is knocking at my door anymore.. my headache is gone, and I don't need to throw up."
"That's good," Karou said thoughtfully, then he asked, "I was just wondering, I've been looking up your symptoms to try and figure out what's wrong with you... have you been taking your pills?"
Kojiro stopped dead.
"W-Which ones?" He tried to play it off as a joke, chuckling tiredly, "I take a lot of pills, Karou."
"You know which ones," Karou said seriously, his hand dropping from Kojiro's face, and Kojiro twisted his own hands together, staring at what he figured was his lap, he couldn't tell in the darkness.
"I-I don't wanna talk about it."
"Why not?"
"I just don't want to, Karou," Kojiro said, a bit more firmly this time, and he heard Karou inhale.
"You stopped taking them, didn't you," He said quietly, and Kojiro balled his fists.
"Karou-"
"Kojiro, we talked about this, you need to take your anti-depressants or else you'll-"
"KAROU, I just don't wanna talk about it okay?!" Kojiro shouted, and then he gasped and covered his mouth with one hand, because he'd never shouted at Karou before, and he felt the other man tense beside him.
"I'm sorry, Karou I-"
"Whatever, j-just forget about it," Karou said darkly, getting up from the bed and wrapping his arms around himself as he headed for the door.
Kojiro panicked, stumbling over his words, "K-Karou, p-please wait I-"
*SLAM*