Work Text:
Can you stop by?
Kojiro blinks at the message flashing across his screen, surprise washing away any remnants of sleep as he reads the message for a second time. Kaoru sent it an hour prior, before the sun even had a chance of rising that Saturday morning. Which is weird, to say the least, when he is well aware that weekends are when Kaoru sleeps in and takes his time, when he awakes closer to noon and calls Kojiro over to make him brunch like he’s a personal chef and not his boyfriend. Worry settles in Kojiro’s bones and he makes his way across the bedroom, typing out a quick OMW before tossing his phone on the bathroom counter
It’s not that Kaoru doesn’t reach out for him—in fact, it’s quite the opposite, but only Kojiro is able to pick up on those signs from his lover—but it’s strange for him to reach out at such an odd time with a request like that. Kojiro thinks back to the day before, thinks back to how Kaoru looked and acted when they ate at Sia La Luce, sharing a bottle of cabernet while Kojiro closed the restaurant for the night. His face was flushed in the light, but Kojiro simply assumed it was from the wine, a common tease that Kaoru refuses to delight in despite the way it makes the corners of his mouth curve. And despite the air conditioner blasting in the place, Kaoru complained about how warm it was. That’s when it clicks.
Kaoru must have caught a summer cold.
Laughter bubbles out of Kojiro, echoing against the tile in his shower. He should have realized it sooner, should have realized it last night when his lover continued to flush deeper, should have realized it when those slim fingers that Kojiro loves so much played with the opening of his yukata, exposing more skin to the night and to his hungry eyes. Cold water washes over him, cooling down his thoughts before they can heat up even more and prolong his shower. He thinks of all the things he needs to do instead of Kaoru himself — pick up groceries, grab electrolyte drinks, pack cooling patches. It works long enough that Kojiro manages to step out of the shower with a plan for the day.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro calls through the dark apartment and is met with silence. He shuffles past the door, dropping the bags in his arms to the floor of the genkan so he can turn the lock, shoving his key back in his pockets. “You awake?
It doesn’t surprise him when he is met with silence once more and instead of calling out again, Kojiro slips out of his shoes and pads down the hall, knows exactly where to turn so he doesn’t bump into one of Kaoru’s overpriced cabinets in the dark and finally finds the kitchen, placing the bags on the counter before opening the curtains to let the first light of the day in. A disappointed sigh escapes him when he opens the fridge to see nothing more than a bottle of rosè and a sad looking daikon radish. It’s no wonder Kaoru got sick if this is all he keeps at home for sustenance.
Kojiro takes his time—ears tuned to the hallway in case any sound floats out of the bedroom while he puts away the produce he brought, as he searches through the cabinets to find the stock pot that he bought as a housewarming gift when Kaoru moved into this oversized house a year ago and complained about how it was useless, how he didn’t need to cook when Kojiro was the one who cooked for him most nights than not. He remembers the way Kaoru still handled it with care, delicate hands placing the pot on the counter, away from the other gifts as if afraid one of them would damage it. He remembers the first meal that was cooked in that pot, a curry that only came together with both of their efforts even if Kaoru’s knife skills left something to be desired.
Groans from down the hall catch Kojiro’s attention, and his feet move before he can think twice.
Kojiro is greeted with darkness when he slides open the door to Kaoru’s room, the only light a blinking red from the thermostat on the opposite wall. His eyes slide across the dark, pausing on the blackout shades he knows cover the floor-to-ceiling windows before moving over to where he knows the bed sits in the middle of the room, eyes adjusting so he can finally see the lump shifting around beneath the duvet. It brings a smile to Kojiro’s face when he hears Kaoru mumble what he can assume is sass when he opens the blinds just enough to let light into the room, just enough for Kojiro to see what a mess the space is in comparison to its normal cleanliness. His eyes land on the bed again and are greeted with Kaoru looking rumpled and grouchy, hair askew and sticking up in different directions while a line of dried drool sticks to his chin.
It makes Kojiro’s heart swell in his chest.
“What are you doing here?” Kaoru tries to sit up, elbows giving out just as Kojiro rushes over to help. He slaps at Kojiro’s hands once he’s settled against the pillows, still refusing help even when he needs it. “It’s early.”
Kojiro blinks. “You texted me this morning, asking me to stop by.”
“No, I didn’t,” Kaoru replies, brows pinching together so quickly that Kojiro barely has time to press them away. “Even if I did, that wasn’t me. It was my demons.”
“Alright, it wasn’t you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not sick.” Kojiro manages to stifle his laughter, but not without a glare thrown in his direction. His fingers brush against Kaoru’s cheek, cool and clammy to the touch which only makes him worry more despite the way Kaoru leans into the touch. “Stay here, I already brought everything I need to make okayu . Want me to bring water?”
Kaoru only hums his answer as he sinks further into the pillows, eyes slipping shut for just a moment and Kojiro feels his heart swell once again when looking at his lover. He presses a quick kiss to his forehead and slips out of the room as quietly as he can.
As it turns out, Kaoru has to run to the convenience store up the block since Kaoru doesn’t have any water bottles in his place. Normally he would fill a glass, but he doesn’t trust Kaoru not to spill it on himself in his current state and the last thing he wants is the other man to snap at him while damp. He ends up buying a few electrolyte drinks along with the bottled water and a ramune for when Kaoru finally feels up to drinking something else.
Kojiro is greeted by classical music when he opens the door, no doubt playing from Carla in the bedroom. Part of him is glad that he left Kaoru’s door open, in the case he hears Kaoru stumble out of bed over the sounds from the stovetop. But a smaller, nagging part of him worries that the sounds of him preparing lunch will only be a bother, will only further put stress on Kaoru’s body when he should be resting without interruption. It’s only when Kaoru’s voice floats down the hall, demanding that Carla skip Debussy, that Kojiro’s worries disappear.
And he repeats the same motions as before—slips out of his shoes, pads down the walk as quietly as he can, and drops the bags from the store on the counter. Kojiro knows this kitchen like his very own, knows which cabinet to reach for in his search for Kaoru’s favorite glass so he can finally give Kaoru the water he promised earlier and not have to listen to how he’s a liar. A smile crosses his face when he notices his glass front and center, freshly washed and dried. It’s obvious that it was recently used and not by him. He tucks that piece of information away for later. There would be no point in teasing him about it now with how sick he is, the teasing lost to simple annoyance instead of shyness rising to the surface in the form of a flush.
He shakes his head and focuses on the task at hand, filling the glass halfway in case it spills. A cranky, wet Kaoru is the last thing either of them wants to deal with on top of him being sick. Relief washes over Kojiro when he sees Kaoru watching one of those silly dramas on his laptop in the morning light, so into what’s happening on the screen that he barely acknowledges his love with a nod as he places the glass on the nightstand. He doesn’t take any offense at the cold shoulder, instead smiling at the man covered up to his chin with the covers.
Kojiro always had a problem when it came to spoiling Kaoru, going so far back that he can remember doing it when they were still in high school and all he wanted was for the other man to notice him as anything other than just his friend, to notice all the ways he looked at Kaoru with how terribly his face hid his true feelings whenever they would spend their nights skating along the pier or whispering their worries to one another in the dark of his room most nights. Looking back, really looking back and analyzing his behavior, makes him laugh at how blinded Kaoru was and how ridiculous, how desperate, how enamored he was himself to dote on Kaoru like he did—as he does now that they can finally call themselves lovers instead of friends. As Kojiro does now that he no longer has to worry about Kaoru slipping through his fingers when he does too much, coddles too much, spoils him so much that even Shadow pretends to gag when he third wheels them.
Kaoru tugs on Kojiro’s shirt, pulling on him until the two of them are eye-level with one another, Kojiro’s back hunched over so far that he knows it’ll cramp up tomorrow morning—a small price to pay when he’s able to steal a kiss.
“Weren’t you going to bring me a cooling patch?” Kaoru mumbles against Kojiro’s lips, scoffing when he hums in confusion. “I thought you were supposed to take care of me.”
So spoiled, Kojiro thinks.
He steals another kiss before pulling away. A smile fights its way onto his face when he spots Kaoru’s pout. “I left them in the kitchen. Figured you needed water first since you had nothing in your fridge.” Kojiro presses a kiss to the top of Kaoru’s head and slips out of the room once more as his lover grumbles about how he shouldn’t kiss him because of how gross he is.
Whenever Kojiro cooks at home, it’s completely different than when he cooks at Sia La Luce. Here, behind this counter, he can feel the amount of love he puts into preparing each meal, into cutting each ingredient needed for the dish with such care that he can almost taste it as he watches the knife slice through onion, through tomatoes, through all of the vegetables he knows Kaoru will complain about but eat anyway. The intention behind what he’s doing is different.
When he cooks at home, Kojiro is cooking solely for his love.
This isn’t lost on Kojiro and instead of making himself feel bad for not pouring the same amount of care into the food he makes at the restaurant, he smiles. Langa showed him something called love languages a while back and he realized that his own love language was acts of service. Peeling carrots, simmering broth, dicing peppers, these are all things that Kojiro does to show Kaoru just how much he loves him, just how much care he is willing to put into something as benign as chopping garlic and ginger so finely that it forms the paste so desperately needed for okayu to taste like home.
And what’s so wrong with that? Putting his care into meals for Kaoru is the only way he knows how to show his lover the depth of his feelings without coming off facetious, without having Kaoru shake his head at him and claim that he has probably told all of his former lovers the same thing. But he hasn’t. He rarely put this much effort into cooking for exes, for one night stands, for those who kept him company while he was miles away from Kaoru, in another country, another timezone, and was barely getting by with scraps of attention from him.
So Kojiro relies on his cooking to do the talking for him. It’s the one thing that they can both agree on no matter the situation.
The sound of Carla’s wheels drags Kojiro back to the present, realizing that he spent the last few minutes lost in his thoughts as he stirred the okayu around in the pot. When he turns, Kaoru is shuffling into the kitchen, empty glass in his hand. The corners of his cooling patch curl upwards underneath pink strands that have fallen out of the ponytail atop his head. The flush resting high on his cheeks sends shivers of worry through Kojiro, concern working its way onto his features despite his best efforts not to.
“You should be in bed.” Kojiro plucks the empty glass from slim fingers, quickly refilling it before shoving it back in front of Kaoru with a concerned look on his face. “If you needed something, I would’ve heard you call from down the hall.”
Kaoru rolls his eyes. “I’m not helpless. I can get a glass of water by myself.”
Kojiro’s eyes flit between the now filled glass and Kaoru’s face, a brow raised at him in an unasked question. He watches as his lover presses his tongue against his cheek, fighting whatever quip he knows Kaoru wants to throw at him. Instead of replying, Kaoru simply takes a sip from the glass then sits down at the island. Warmth blooms in his chest as he watches Kaoru—which is absurd if he thinks about it because all the man is doing is drinking water. But, he’s drinking it from Kojiro’s glass, from the glass that came in a set and Kaoru labeled as Kojiro’s all those months ago when they went shopping for homewares.
Perhaps the one being spoiled this afternoon isn’t Kaoru, but actually Kojiro.
“Is it almost done? I could smell it cooking all afternoon.” Kaoru tries his best to look around Kojiro at the pot on the stove as if only seeing it will make his cold go away. “You better have ground up the extra ginger you always put in.”
Laughter bubbles out of Kojiro and fills the kitchen just like the afternoon sun coming through the window. Leave it to Kaoru to act as if he hasn’t been spoiled by Kojiro all day, as if he hasn’t been asking for help in his own, complicated way that only Kojiro knows how to respond to. Not that he minds spoiling his lover in these small, intricate ways. He’d be lying if he didn’t love getting to care for Kaoru like this occasionally.
But Kaoru doesn’t need to know that.
Kojiro points at Kaoru, fighting a smile from slipping onto his face. “Stay there while this finishes up. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”
The two of them find comfort in the quiet, listening to the okayu simmering on the stove, to Carla filling the spaces between them with some classical musician that Kojiro knows he’ll butcher the name of if he tries to pronounce it. This quiet easiness gets him at rest knowing that neither of them feel forced to fill the silence like they might have when they first got together, both too scared of the other thinking they were boring simply because the quiet was comfortable. It makes him smile to himself as he dips the wooden spoon into the pot to scoop some, as he blows onto the rice to cool before tasting it. Perfect, as usual.
He takes down their bowls from the cabinet—once again noting that the bowl Kaoru deemed as Kojiro’s is in front of the one that is supposed to be his, but keeps his mouth shut for now—and turns the burner off, waving at Kaoru to come over. Normally Kojiro would let his lover stay at the island and fill the bowl for him, but he knows how often he over portions for the man and even if okayu is meant to make him feel better, it won’t do much if Kaoru overeats all because Kojiro served him too much.
It doesn’t surprise him when Kaoru keeps asking him to spoon more into the bowl until it’s practically overflowing. It doesn’t surprise him when Kaoru asks him to put extra grated ginger on top. It doesn’t surprise him when Kaoru smiles down at the bowl cupped in his hands as if being sick was worth it simply because he can eat this.
Only when Kojiro settles across from him with his own bowl topped with extra ginger and green onion does Kaoru dig into his. He watches as his lover brings a spoonful to his mouth with the same grace he uses to handle a calligraphy brush. It’s mesmerizing, forcing Kojiro to watch the spoon as it digs into the porridge as the wrist that handles it flicks upwards and past plush lips. A light dusting of pink crawls across Kaoru’s face as his body warms from the food, a satisfied hum jolting Kojiro back to reality.
“How did it turn out,” Kojiro asks. “Up to your standards?”
Kaoru narrows his eyes then swallows another spoonful. “It’s delicious. But you already knew that when you asked for a free compliment.”
Laughter bellows out of Kojiro again at how bratty Kaoru is. His spoiled lover simply rolls his eyes and continues to eat.
Sunset creeps through the windows and steeps the bedroom in orange, in red, in all the colors that Kaoru looks best in even if he claims they wash him out. Even now the hues wash Kaoru in warmth, in life, in crimson so pale that he almost looks as if he is glowing from his spot wrapped in Kojiro’s arms. He looks better than that morning—the color is back in his cheeks and the bags under his eyes have faded—and the tension in Kojiro’s body melts away. Kaoru is by no means fragile, but that doesn’t stop Kojiro from being concerned when he does fall sick, especially after his stint in the hospital. He can’t help it, no, not when he spent so many nights next to a hospital bed so he can watch over his lover in case he needed something or when he helped Kaoru adjust back into his everyday life, supervising him at his office to stop him from overworking despite his claims that he was fine and that Kojiro was simply being overbearing with how much he cared. But the moment Kojiro stepped back, Kaoru reached forward to pull him back with a blush high on his cheeks.
So, Kojiro can’t really be blamed for spoiling Kaoru like this.
Kojiro closes his eyes and inhales, fingers ghosting along his spine through the fabric that covers Kaoru’s back. Like this he can pretend that the world doesn’t exist outside the two of them, he can pretend that they have nothing to worry about other than how late they plan to sleep in tomorrow or what vegetables they need to buy at the grocery store so Kaoru doesn’t rely only on instant noodles or take away from the restaurant.
“This house is too big for you,” Kojiro mumbles into Kaoru’s hair, damp strands tickling the tip of his nose. Pine floods his senses and he buries his nose deeper, relaxing at the comforting scent enough to press deeper into the pillows, pulling Kaoru along with him. “Why do you even need this much space?”
Kaoru settles even more against Kojiro’s chest, head rolling along his shoulder until it is buried in the crook of Kojiro’s neck. “I’m waiting for you to move in.”
And maybe Kaoru is delirious, but it makes Kojiro’s heart soar more than anything else. It makes him picture their life together in this house, waking up only to slide out of bed to make breakfast for them, Kaoru’s arms slipping around his waist while his head rests on shoulder. It’s a dangerous fantasy that Kojiro has fallen victim to before in moments much less soft, much less tender moments where his mind runs wild thinking about what could be if Kaoru so much as asked before catching himself. It’s sly of his lover to bring it up now when he can use the excuse of being sick to take the words back, when he can break Kojiro’s heart so easily by taking the one thing he so desperately wants away from him.
It’s the truth unraveling from within Kaoru’s chest and finally making itself known.
“Alright,” Kojiro mumbles, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
And Kojiro knows that Kaoru will turn shy at the mention of it over coffee, will flush and blame the sickness for not remembering what he said while wrapped in Kojiro’s arms, but it doesn’t matter. Not when Kojiro knows how his lover truly feels about them living apart, knows about how Kaoru bought the home with Kojiro in mind all those months ago and has since been saving space for him.
The next morning begins with Kojiro getting kicked out of bed.
He shouldn’t be surprised, not with how often he has heard Kaoru complain about how much heat he gives off while they sleep. But crashing onto the tatami mats is a surprise that wakes him from the dream he was enjoying—him and Kaoru on the Amalfi Coast, sipping limoncello between courses while overlooking the coast and holding hands—and brings him back to the harsh reality of the morning light and hard floor. He can hear Kaoru giggling to himself from above him, probably stifling his laughter with a hand over his mouth. The thought alone is enough to make him climb back onto the bed, tackling Kaoru to the sheets in a fit of his own laughter.
Kojiro presses kisses on whatever skin he can reach, making Kaoru laugh even more. “Is this the thanks I get for taking care of you yesterday? That seems unfair.”
All he gets in response is more laughter, a kick to his side when his hands travel down Kaoru’s sides to where he’s ticklish. Kojiro can’t help himself when his fingers dig into skin, into muscle so that his lover beneath him shrieks in his ear even more. He’s grateful that the neighbors aren’t close enough to hear them through the buildings because this laughter is meant only for him, for him to think back on when their days run long and they only manage to fall into bed next to each other, for him to hoard close to his heart as he watches Kaoru from over the bar at Sia La Luce when he is supposed to be paying attention to his orders and not his pretty lover who drinks the restaurant’s wine collection dry.
And who can blame Kojiro for wanting to keep this to himself? Kaoru is his hidden treasure, the gold he hoards away from all others and takes his time with every night to make sure it’s safe, it’s untouched, it’s the same way he left it that morning when he left with a lingering kiss and a skip in his step. Kaoru has always been the sun that his earth revolves around no matter what. That is something that will never change for either of them, no matter what form their relationship takes.
“Come on,” Kaoru manages through gasps of laughter. His hands grip onto Kojiro’s shoulders, nails digging into the soft skin through his shirt. “You were too hot. Blame your bulky muscles for that.”
The overwhelming urge to tease the truth out of Kaoru tempts Kojiro so much so that his fingers continue to dance along his sides, dipping beneath his shirt to reach warm skin that no longer makes him worry. But the morning light creeping through the curtains pulls him back, rolling off of his lover and back onto his side. It’s cooler than it was before which only makes him pout.
“I thought you liked my muscles. Last night you were clinging onto them.”
The flush that takes over Kaoru’s face is enough to fuel Kojiro through the rest of the day—even if he was kicked out of their bed a second time that morning.