Work Text:
Moving in with someone tells you a lot about them, Konekomaru has realized over the last six months or so.
His boyfriend is a morning person by necessity rather than choice, and an evening person by necessity rather than choice, and really Okumura Yukio's ideal natural sleep schedule is a mystery to every living person in Assiah so it's probably best that he sets alarms. Wake up alarms, bedtime alarms, alarms to remember to take the tea bag out of the teapot, alarms to remind him to switch between tasks, there are a lot of buzzes coming from Yukio's (thankfully silenced) phone at all hours of his tightly scheduled day.
The intense scheduling isn't a surprise, Yukio's been a regimented sort of person since the day Konekomaru met him, right at the beginning of high school, and he hasn't gotten much more relaxed over the intervening years. How thrown off balance Yukio gets when anything goes slightly wrong had been something Konekomaru had to learn, after everything with Satan calmed down and Konkeomaru had started keeping a slightly closer eye on his teacher/peer/friend (and then, a year or so later, boyfriend), but after they moved in together he'd noticed it extended not just to plans and schedules and unexpected changes in the day, but to objects as well. It's kind of endearing, the way his normally-organized boyfriend frowns and physically retraces his steps around the apartment (and on the occasions that Konekomaru's managed to track the item down first, his grateful smile is extremely cute).
Today, though, today is weird. Really, it started last night, when Yukio came in after work and immediately shoved his futon in the corner of the room, burrowed down underneath almost every blanket they own, and gone straight to sleep. They both keep a consistent schedule, no point in sleeping in on the weekend and throwing off their normal morning, but Yukio slapped at his phone when it went off, hitting the snooze button three times before finally getting up. Making coffee should be a normal part of his routine, he does it every morning. But today, Yukio checks that the kettle is full, starts it boiling, and pauses a second longer than usual before he grabs the french press. He puts the french press on the scale, and then there's another fractional pause. That's not right, Konekomaru thinks, rising from the table and his own pot of tea to stand beside Yukio as he tares the scale and stalls out again.
Yukio's expression is both familiar and rare, and Konekomaru is suddenly very concerned. He's seen that sort of deeply exhausted frustration on Yukio's face only one or two times before, when he's been pushed beyond his absolute limit. I can't do this, he'd said, quietly but Konekomaru had seen how much it had hurt him to admit it. He should not be making that expression over the entirely routine and uncomplicated process of morning coffee.
"Yukio?" He asks, and Yukio starts as Konekomaru touches his elbow, apparently completely unaware of the other exorcist's approach. That's wrong too. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Yukio says, sounding very not fine, sounding frustrated and exhausted and slightly dazed. He pulls away from Konekomaru, coughing. "Sorry, I think I have a cold."
A cold. Konekomaru recalibrates. Yukio with a cold is a new one, but Konekomaru has dealt with Bon and Shima (who can, in fact, catch cold) when they were growing up, and it can't be any worse than stubborn denial of illness (Bon) or endless whining (Shima). A cold is better than any of the other potential underlying causes for Yukio's behavior.
"That's okay. Go sit down."
Yukio takes a few steps towards the couch, then pauses, like he's lost something. "I was making coffee."
"I'm making it," Konekomaru says, and is extremely grateful that they have the day off, because getting his boyfriend to call out of work feels like it would have been both necessary and extremely difficult.
"Sorry," Yukio says, when Konekomaru comes over with a mug of black coffee and a box of tissues. He's managed to grab one of the blankets off his futon and he's wrapped himself in it like he can't be bothered to care if he looks childish right now. He coughs again, burying his face in the blanket. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be fine."
"Nope," Konekomaru says, and keeps talking to head off any questions. It's effort that Yukio can't manage right now, that much is obvious. All his careful organization is falling apart because he can't force himself to take the next step. There's no point in him trying to force it when what he apparently needs today is to sit on the couch and stare at the wall (or maybe at that documentary about cat shows that Konekomaru's been meaning to watch). "You can be fine tomorrow, just get some rest today."
"I'm not going to kiss you," Yukio says, taking the mug. I'd like to kiss you but I don't want to give you my cold is what Konekomaru knows he means, and he sits down beside Yukio on the couch. "Thank you."