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Hanma has never hated something so much before.
Kisaki turns away from him in bed and sniffles, groans when he turns on the lamp light, the light can't be helping his headache. You see, Kisaki was fine a moment ago. It was only yesterday he was having Hanma tie up rats and exterminate roaches with the light pull of a trigger. This morning, when Hanma came by to pick him up to do it all again, Kisaki had shuffled miserably to the door with a slow shake of his head to refuse.
Most days Kisaki is the one talking with Hanma commenting here and then, asking simple questions to reveal long-winded answers. An invitation to smoke ended up with a lecture. A few carefully placed your mom jokes ended in getting blocked and having to scale the house to get to Kisaki's bedroom on the second floor of his house.
Anyways.
Hanma had gone into the house, despite Kisaki's quiet but glaringly obvious protests. With boxes of tissues, stacks of empty cups with strings of teabag labels drooling down the side, and enough medicine to knock out a horse. With all this in one isolated corner of his room by his bed, it was clear to Hanma that he of course needed to be the one to save Kisaki. A knight in shining armour to help brave against a throat infection.
After hours of talking at Kisaki, since he couldn't muster up much strength to tell him to shut the fuck up, Kisaki eventually decided that the best decision was that if he was not conscious, he could not hear Hanma. So down with drowsy medicine he went, as he slithered underneath the sheets of his bed. He shared a slurred warning to Hanma not to get close to him because if he got sick too, Kisaki would be sure to kill him.
Perhaps in his sleepy, sickly state, Kisaki was not able to realise that this was no more a deterrent to Hanma as honey to an ant infestation.
Hanma reaches over to hold Kisaki down to the bed by his chest when he tries to get up, earning him a weak swat to wherever Kisaki thinks he is. A painless thump on his upper arm. Sure, the first thought is that he cares, but he also feels that if Kisaki stands up and walks anywhere he'll crumble somewhere between his room and 5 feet outside of it.
"Off," He groans, his hands scrabbling to get Hanma's hand off of him but gives up when he starts to get dizzy from the movement. Kisaki sighs, rests an arm over his eyes but peers at Hanma from under it when he hoarsely demands, "Water."
The digital alarm reads around quarter past one in the morning, the red flashing non-stop. Hanma reaches over to Kisaki's nightstand to turn it face down before leaning into Kisaki, who turns his face and presses at Hanma's chest. So he settles for pressing a kiss to the soft palm of Kisaki's hand before getting out of bed.
This damned cold is a nightmare.
Hanma can't smoke with him, can't hear him talk and ramble and worst of all, Kisaki won't let him kiss him. He can take it, Hanma could swallow a handful of slugs a day and live to see pigs fly, but Kisaki still won't let him. Stupid fucking cold...
He flips on the kettle and drums his fingers on the countertops while his foot taps on the tiled floor. To be honest, putting the awful side effects aside, Kisaki being a little sick is pretty cute. He gives up on doing anything with his hair, so it's left unstyled and as fluffy as bleach-blond hair can be. It frames his doll face with eyes that squint and sneer at everything because he can't be arsed to find and wear his glasses in the state he's in.
Kisaki is cute. There's no other way to go around it, Hanma cannot think of a better descriptor that does not essentially amount to the same meaning. His slight frame, delicate face, the curves of his lips. When Kisaki is focused, his tongue swipes across his bottom lip from time to time, his teeth tugging at the plushness of it afterwards. Fucking adorable.
Right, what was he doing again? The kettle.
Steam billows from the top and Hanma decides that's hot enough. He reaches up to the cabinet for mugs, sifting through all three of the remaining cups and picking one. Some name of a university is branded on it, but Hanma doesn't pay it much attention as he fills it halfway with scalding hot water.
He's whistling to himself when he hears something thud behind him and Hanma whips his head around, one hand balled into a fist and the other on the handle of a kitchen knife stuck in its block. When he sees it's Kisaki (?) rolled up in several layers of blankets laying on the floor only a few feet from the bottom of the stairs, Hanma releases his grip on the knife and rushes over to pick him up.
Hanma realises early that Kisaki had not in fact fallen, but had reached the bottom of the stairs, saw Hanma, and subsequently decided to flop onto the ground in belief that Hanma would get to him whether he waddled farther or not. His head hadn't hit the floor at all, the only negative effect being slight vertigo from his posture being changed at the pace it had. He squeezes his eyes shut when he knows Hanma is there and, with the entitlement of a spoiled toddler, Kisaki demands, "Up."
Hanma wants to laugh and tease him, and he does laugh, but cannot say anything further. Kisaki is already fast asleep and burrowed deeper into his man-made cacoon. He lifts him to the couch, the only thing holding any meaningful weight being the blanket that seems to drag Hanma down to the pits of hell. He's carried Kisaki before, so it can't be him. Did they weave this thing out of stone?
He gets the couch successfully, even if his back aches and his arms tremble afterwards. Kisaki's head is propped up with a pillow, his socked feet (because he wears socks to bed, like a freak) sticking out of the bottom of his self-created human sushi roll. Hanma rests on his knees by Kisaki's face for a moment, brushing stray strands of hair from his eyes and wiping drool because the cold has turned him into a momentary mouth-breather.
Even if he does get sick, Hanma doesn't think it would be so bad. Every road has bumps and a few colds and bruises certainly won't deter Hanma from the enigma that is Kisaki Tetta. The mastermind who whines when his tea is too hot and indulges in sappy romance films. Kisaki Tetta who drags Hanma into stores where he stares intently at two identical bags of soil. Who mocks his victims as they sob and wail only to hide his tears when Titanic is on.
Maybe it's just him. Hanma gets up to fill up the rest of that mug with cool water and brings it over to Kisaki, who stirs after his brief slumber when steam tickles at his cheeks. His arms pop out of the top of the blanket like tendrils to wrap around the mug. Their fingers brush and Kisaki props himself up to sip at the warm water.
Hanma rests his head in his arms, crossed as he leans on the couch and watches Kisaki go from sips to gulping down the rest of his drink. When Kisaki is done, he sets the cup down to the side of him on the uneven surface of the couch where it threatens to tilt and fall before Hanma reaches over and sets it aside on the coffee table.
Kisaki grumbles out thanks before tossing and turning in the blanket that Hanma notices now surely has to be weighted. He can't get comfortable and expresses his discomfort in a string of curses and unintelligible whines. It's not long before he gives up and faces Hanma, who hasn't moved once since he last saw him.
"Why're you here?" He squints, tries his hardest to glare but all that comes of it is a half-hearted pout. His words are no less slurred than before. "You're gonna get sick."
Hanma shrugs and leans back with his hands resting on his legs. "Don't see anyone else here to take care of ya."
Kisaki opens his mouth to retort, but seems to stop himself before anything comes out. In lieu of a lecture, he hums, and rolls himself until he's off the couch and landing directly onto Hanma who yelps because that blanket has not gotten any lighter in the past five minutes. Kisaki unravels himself and drags a pillow down from the couch while the other hand tugs Hanma's shirt down.
Hanma tilts his head in curiosity, the pain of his foot being crushed under the full weight of a falling body being easily forgotten. Kisaki pushes up at one side of the blanket, an indication that Hanma should pick it up. He picks it up, unsure of what Kisaki is asking until Kisaki is curling up, one hand still weakly tugging Hanma down.
Hanma gets the hint and lays down next to Kisaki who pulls another pillow from the couch and places it down next to his own, patting it twice before bringing both of his hands close to his chest. Shit. For a passing moment, Hanma cannot believe his luck and by the time he starts to tease Kisaki, he is fast asleep for a second time.
He lays down. The carpet is bound to irritate his skin and the blanket pushes him further into it, but the warmest place on earth is right next to him. Hanma buries his face into Kisaki's hair and closes his eyes, whispers to him of all the things he couldn't say if Kisaki were awake for surely he would suffer the consequences.
"I love you."
"Hanma, where are you? I've been trying to call for the past half hour, for fucks sake."
"Kisaki..."
"Hanma."
"I think I'm sick."