Work Text:
To say that Nanjo Kojiro is one of the most hardworking people Kaoru knows would be the understatement of the century. For the past three years, he’s poured his heart and soul into a little restaurant on the corner of a street that’s become a second home to him. (And Kaoru, for that matter).
Every morning, he slips out of bed at six a.m., murmuring apologies to Kaoru who had crawled underneath the sheets four hours prior. He presses a kiss to his temple, buries a chuckle against Kaoru’s skin, and quietly leaves the bedroom while Kaoru twists and turns a few more times before succumbing to a deep slumber.
By eight a.m., Kojiro’s already at Sia La Luce, doing inventory, restocking items and preparing lunch. The restaurant opens at noon and customers trickle in; a constant stream of hungry people in need of good food and good company. Autopilot takes over and it becomes a routine of preparing, cooking and serving dishes.
It’s a decent routine.
Fortunately for Kojiro, the staff of Sia La Luce operates like a well-oiled machine. By eleven p.m., his sous-chef and servers are out the door and he’s left to do some minor preparations for the next day. Midnight rolls around and he—somehow—still finds the energy to sneak in a workout before returning to his apartment and falling into bed at one a.m.
It’s a tedious routine, but it works for him nonetheless, Kaoru supposes.
Well, most of the time.
It starts on a random Thursday. Kaoru had foregone visiting Sia La Luce in favor of waiting at Kojiro’s apartment and finishing up some administrative tasks he wasn’t able to tend to in the afternoon. He’s neck deep in calculating his quarterly revenues and expenses when Kojiro shows up earlier than expected. The white numbers in the right corner of Kaoru’s laptop screen tell him that it’s a little before midnight. He frowns at Kojiro. “You’re in early,” he comments. “Thought you’d be at the gym.”
Kojiro merely smiles at him, drops a kiss to the top of Kaoru’s head and disappears into the bathroom. “Not feeling it today. A little tired,” he calls out. “Gonna take a shower and head to bed.”
Kaoru makes a noncommittal noise before returning to the report on his screen.
When he visits the restaurant the following night for a business meeting with a potential client, Sia La Luce is overrun with customers and it becomes glaringly obvious that two of Kojiro’s servers had not shown up for their shift; leaving it to the other employees to pick up the slack. Kaoru supposes that it might be the reason why Kojiro had fallen asleep mere minutes after coming home.
Over the span of the next seven days, Sia La Luce remains filled to the brim with customers and Kaoru notices that Kojiro wakes up a little earlier and that his shifts last a little longer. Whenever he visits the restaurant—be it at night, or in the afternoon—it becomes apparent that Kojiro’s rushing more than usual; as if he’s constantly running out of time. It seems so unlike Kojiro, who—despite the chaos that comes with running a restaurant—often seems so relaxed, so at peace, when cooking.
His trademark smile feels more forced rather than natural when talking to satisfied customers, and the dark circles beneath his eyes tell Kaoru he’s barely sleeping.
Whenever he comments on it, Kojiro brushes it off with a shrug and a smile; mentioning that ‘he’ll be fine’.
This turns out to be a lie when he all but collapses on a Tuesday afternoon and Kaoru receives a frantic phone call from Mika—one of the servers at Sia La Luce—a little after four. Panic washes over him in waves and Kaoru nearly stumbles over his feet as he exits his own apartment, phone pressed tightly to his ear as he informs Mika that he will be at the restaurant shortly.
As expected, Kojiro objects and fights him the entire way back to his apartment, but Kaoru has always been the more stubborn one between the two of them. “Get into bed,” he orders once they pass the threshold.
“I’m fine, I swear,” Kojiro replies. “I need to go back. Tatsuya and Shigeo are both sick, I can’t just leave everyone now.”
Kaoru fixes him with a stern look before crossing his arms. “This is why you have a sous-chef. Izuki will manage. He said so himself,” he counters. “Now go.”
There’s a rebuttal on his tongue, Kaoru can practically see it, but then Kojiro starts swaying on his feet again and Kaoru quickly steps forward to prevent him from collapsing for a second time that afternoon. “You can’t even stand,” he murmurs, slipping an arm around Kojiro’s waist. His voice is gentler this time, less commanding, less authoritative; more concerned. “Kojiro, please.”
Kojiro sighs in response—as if admitting defeat—and Kaoru gently guides him towards his bedroom.
“You should probably go,” Kojiro murmurs as they enter the room, releasing a quiet groan when his back slowly hits the mattress. “You’ll get sick too.”
“Nonsense,” Kaoru counters. He lowers himself onto the mattress as well, sitting at the edge of the bed and pressing the back of his hand against Kojiro’s forehead. His skin feels warmer than usual, burning up with fever, and Kaoru’s fingers trail down until they brush back and forth over Kojiro’s cheek.
It’s odd to see him like this, Kaoru thinks. Kojiro, who is always so lively, so full of energy. If anything, Kaoru had always been the one to be more prone to illness. He remembers a particular time in high school during their third year, when he’d fallen ill whilst studying for college entrance exams. Kaoru’s anxiety had been at an all-time high and the stress he put upon his body during many late-night study sessions had caused him to collapse.
He remembers how Kojiro had nursed him back to health, never leaving his side and fussing over him for two days straight. “You gotta take better care of yourself, idiot,” he’d say, placing a cooling pad on Kaoru’s forehead and peeling tangerine’s as he sat cross-legged on the floor while Kaoru was hidden beneath layers of blankets. He’d stifled a cough, murmured something about ‘being fine’, and carefully stuck out his hand beneath his blanket when Kojiro offered him a piece of the tangerine.
After nibbling on tangerines and apple slices, Kojiro had brought him a bowl of okayu. Even then, his culinary skills were something to behold because Kaoru had never expected for rice porridge to be that delicious, even with his sense of smell and taste nearly gone.
Kojiro had added salmon and spring onion as toppings and Kaoru remembers requesting two more bowls after finishing the first one. Afterwards, Kojiro put on one of their favorite movies and rested his back against Kaoru’s bed until they both dozed off.
He smiles at the memory, bringing his palm back to Kojiro’s forehead. His fingers smooth his curls back before Kaoru leans down to press his lips to Kojiro’s forehead.
“Someone has to take care of you.”
— ༉‧₊˚✧
Kojiro falls asleep quickly after that, exhaustion evident on his features, and Kaoru returns to the bedroom once to place a damp washcloth along his forehead before disappearing into the kitchen. He rummages through Kojiro’s fridge and pantries, wondering what to prepare for him in terms of dinner.
Simply ordering takeout would be much easier and less time consuming, but Kaoru’s fingers ignore the app he often uses to order food. Instead, he scrolls through his contact list and taps twice on the name ‘Hiroko’.
After two rings, a familiar voice chirps, “Kaoru! What a nice surprise.”
Nanjo Hiroko’s voice is pleasant and familiar, causing warmth to spread through Kaoru’s chest and a smile to form on his lips. Kojiro’s mother has that effect on people; spreading warmth and kindness wherever she goes. It’s been a while since he’s talked to her, let alone seen her in person, and he almost feels guilty for calling now.
“Hi, am I calling at a good time?” he wonders.
“You? Always,” Hiroko assures him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he answers. “Well, sort of…”
“Is it Kojiro?”
“It’s always Kojiro.”
Hiroko’s laughter echoes through the speaker. “Ah, what did he do now?”
Kaoru’s phone is lodged between his ear and shoulder as he rests his back against the kitchen counter. From where he’s standing, he’s able to gaze into the living room and make out the door of Kojiro’s bedroom. “He’s gotten sick. Like an idiot,” he tells her. “He’s been working too hard and pretty much collapsed at the restaurant.”
Once the words leave his lips, Kaoru feels like a younger version of himself. It’s as if he’s ten years old and telling Kojiro’s mother that her son had broken her favorite vase. (Had that been the case, Kaoru’s ten-year-old self would’ve helped Kojiro hide the evidence and found a way to blame the entire thing onto Kojiro’s younger brother).
There’s an unspoken rule: best friends do not rat each other out, under any given circumstance. However, there’s an exception to the rule. Should one of them fall ill or sustain a particularly bad injury, parents are allowed to be contacted.
“I always tell him that he should take more breaks. Gods, that boy…” Hiroko sighs. “Are you looking after him?”
“I am. He was awfully stubborn initially.”
“Then what do you need me for, Kaoru? You two have always been quite good at looking after each other.”
A feeling that could best be described as fondness settles in his chest. It lasts only for a moment, before Kaoru clears his throat. “I know, I was just wondering what to… cook for him. I want to make something that can last him a few days. And something he likes. I remembered that he loved your curry, so maybe I could try to make that.”
Kaoru remembers eating the curry more than once in his youth and how Kojiro’s eyes damn near twinkled every time his mother would so much as mention the dish. He can practically hear the smile in her voice as Hiroko speaks again. “I’ll happily give you the recipe. Should I text it? Oh, before I forget, I always made him and his brother and sister some ginger tea. And chazuke or okayu.”
“That would be very helpful, thank you. And I was actually thinking of making okayu,” Kaoru informs her. “I’ll make sure he drinks plenty of ginger tea, too.”
“I have no doubt that you will. And Kaoru?” Hiroko says.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for looking after him.”
Their conversation lasted a couple of minutes, in which Kaoru busied himself with preparing both the okayu and pouring Kojiro a cup of ginger tea. On occasion, he throws a glance over his shoulder—into the direction of Kojiro’s bedroom, as if to see whether or not Kojiro would dare to escape the room.
Roughly an hour later, he quietly enters the bedroom, carrying a bowl of okayu. (He hopes it tastes better than it looks). His presence rouses Kojiro from his slumber, who shifts beneath the covers and quietly murmurs his name as he pushes himself upright.
“Easy there,” Kaoru warns and Kojiro grumbles something unintelligible in return, gaze landing on the bowl on his bedside table.
Kaoru doesn’t miss the subtle widening of his eyes, the gentle raise of his brows, as surprise settles on his features. “You cooked?”
“Just okayu.”
It earns him a smile. “Looks good,” Kojiro comments.
“No need to flatter me,” Kaoru snorts, lowering himself onto the bed. His fingers curl around the wash cloth, which he runs along Kojiro’s cheeks gently to wipe away the sweat clinging to his skin.
“How bad is it, doc?” Kojiro asks, a cough following his words.
“You look horrible.”
“Feel horrible.”
“Figured,” Kaoru comments, discarding the wash cloth and retrieving the bowl. “Need me to feed you?”
A laugh finds its way out of Kojiro’s throat—which turns into a proper coughing fit. Kaoru offers him a pointed look as he lifts a spoonful of porridge to Kojiro’s lips, who wordlessly takes a bite. He gives a hum, and Kaoru can’t quite decipher its meaning, but when Kojiro offers him a thumbs up he feels something akin to relief wash over him.
At least the food is up to his standards.
It takes Kojiro a few more bites to finish the meal, which he washes down with the ginger tea Kaoru had brought along. “Thanks for that,” Kojiro says, slumping against the headboard. “It was good. You didn’t even poison me.”
“The night is still young,” Kaoru muses. He pushes two pills and a glass of water into Kojiro’s hand, urging him to take the medicine before grabbing the now empty bowl. “Take those and sleep some more. Dinner will be ready when you’re awake.”
“What’s for dinner?” Kojiro mumbles around the rim of his glass.
“You’ll see.”
“A man of mystery, as always…”
Kaoru laughs at that as walks towards the bedroom door. “Sleep, Kojiro.”
“What? No kiss?”
“When you’re less snotty.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ll live.”
— ༉‧₊˚✧
Kojiro sleeps an additional two hours after Kaoru returns to the kitchen. A little after eight p.m., he hesitantly emerges from the confines of his bedroom; the grey shirt he’d been wearing drenched in sweat and clinging to his skin. “You’re up,” Kaoru says, glancing over his shoulder. “And sweaty.”
“You’re cooking again,” Kojiro mumbles, taking careful steps forward before dropping himself onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He frowns, brows knitting together. “Is that… curry?”
“Mm-hm,” Kaoru says with a hum. “Shower first, though. You reek.”
Kojiro snorts at that. “I know. You gonna give me a bath?” he leers.
“You’re insufferable,” Kaoru returns, though he doesn’t quite correct him as he pads towards the bathroom. “C’mon.”
Kojiro trails after him, lingering in the doorway as Kaoru fills the bathtub with water. Clothes are removed a few moments later and Kojiro slowly, carefully, lowers himself into the tub as per Kaoru’s instructions—who begins to discard his own clothes. When Kojiro offers him a quizzical look, Kaoru merely arches a brow in return. “You wanted me to give you a bath, right? Scoot over.”
It’s a tight fit, but they make it work with Kaoru leaning against the back of the tub while Kojiro settles between his legs and rests against Kaoru’s chest. “This good?” he asks. “Comfy?”
Kojiro offers a reaffirming hum. “Great, actually.”
They sit in silence as Kaoru drags a wash cloth along Kojiro’s skin, working the soap into his back and shoulders. He reaches around him, sliding his hands along the expanse of Kojiro’s chest—who leans into him and releases a soft sigh of relief.
“Good?” Kaoru wonders. His question is answered when Kojiro drops his head to Kaoru’s shoulder; eyelids falling shut and a quiet ‘yeah’ escaping his throat. A smile finds its way onto Kaoru’s lips and he gently pushes his fingers through the curls that fall over Kojiro’s forehead before pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” he murmurs against him. “You’re always going on and on about me and how I’m overworking myself, but you haven’t been any better.”
Kojiro releases a noncommittal noise; one that often indicates that he’s heard Kaoru words but has no intention of actually listening to them. Nevertheless, he curls his hand around Kaoru’s forearm. “Work’s been extra busy lately. Three servers got sick and we didn’t have anyone to cover their shifts.”
There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “’Sides, it’s kinda nice to have you dote on me.”
Kaoru’s chuckle is buried against the top of Kojiro’s head. “Don’t get used to it.”
They remain in the tub until the water is cold and Kaoru’s legs have fallen asleep. He urges Kojiro to take a quick shower to rinse off any soap clinging to his skin, mentioning that he’ll heat up dinner while Kojiro’s busy.
Kojiro joins him in the kitchen a few minutes later, looking somewhat better than a few hours prior. Curiosity settles on his features as he glances at the plates atop the table. “God, I haven’t had curry in ages. I know I can barely smell, but that smells amazing, Kaoru. Kinda reminds me of my mom’s.”
Kaoru fingers curl around his spoon before he takes a large bite of rice. “That’s because it is.”
Recognition flashes through Kojiro’s eyes—a short laugh spilling from his lips as he regards Kaoru with a look that sits somewhere between astonishment and amusement. “You made my mom’s curry?”
“She gave me the recipe,” Kaoru says around his spoon. “I doubt it’ll be as good as hers, though.”
Silence follows Kaoru’s words and he frowns at Kojiro’s lack of a response. Had it been a bad idea to prepare curry? Perhaps his stomach would be unable to digest it after all. “I can make something else if you want,” he quickly adds. “Soup or more okayu—”
“It’s perfect,” Kojiro interjects. There’s a shake of his head, a short chuckle spilling from his lips as he scrubs a hand along the lower half of his face. “It’s just—I dunno, you didn’t have to do all this, y’know?”
Kaoru doesn’t miss the hint of red on Kojiro’s cheeks. He could chalk it up to the fever, but something tells him that warmth of his skin is brought on by something else. He pushes his chair back, drags it across the floor until he’s sitting next to Kojiro—knees bumping together, and the redness on his cheek bright and up close.
Fondness blooms in his chest, cups his heart like a pair of warm hands. It spreads down to his stomach, rushing through every part of his body as every cell is overcome with affection and love for the man before him. A man who is responsible and caring and undoubtedly one of most hardworking people Kaoru knows. Kojiro is so used to taking care of people—being there for everyone—but who takes care of him?
The answer is quite simple, actually.
Kaoru hand reaches for him; fingers brushing over that warm spot on his cheekbone, tracing its redness gently. “Like I said: someone has to take care of you.”