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“You’re getting worse than my mom, man.”
Josuke means it as more of a jab than a serious statement, but he can’t help feeling there’s at least some truth to the words as Okuyasu fluffs up the pillows behind him for the third time in the last five minutes. Because apparently the first two times after he’d helped guide Josuke up into a sitting position weren’t enough, even though they’re perfectly stiff and steady against his back now and doing a pretty decent job of keeping him comfortable, all other things considered.
“No way I’m gettin’ worse than her, she’s been on your ass the whole time you’ve been here,” Okuyasu counters once he’s satisfied that everything is properly situated. Josuke scoots over the best he can without agitating his bad leg, and Okuyasu wastes no time taking a seat atop the open space at the edge of the bed.
“Dude, so have you,” Josuke snorts in reply as he reaches over to weakly shove at the other’s shoulder.
Yet that second jab is also true, because ever since the night he woke up after surgery, Okuyasu’s been glued to his bedside almost 24/7. Much more than his mom has, in fact. Nearly every night, Okuyasu will stay late past visiting hours, only going home after Tomoko gently talks him into it or the doctors and nurses outright tell him he has to leave. But like a boomerang, he keeps flying right back to this hospital room, right beside Josuke’s bed. And sometimes even in it. Like right now.
He’ll come back after school finally lets out for the day carrying boxes of food from Tonio’s restaurant, or stacks of homework that Koichi insists Josuke needs to work on so he won’t fall behind on their lessons. Sometimes he even walks in carrying convenience store bags filled with snacks and drinks for both of them to share, and other times he’ll have plastic bags dangling from his arms filled with all of the hair products Josuke constantly whines about wanting while trapped here, but can’t have. Then Okuyasu will get comfy right next to Josuke and tell him all about what he’s missed while he’s been bedridden, how awful everything is without him (“Koichi an’ Yukako were makin’ goo goo eyes at each other at lunch the whole damn time! I can’t take another day of it! I want ya back, Josuke!” he’d complained one day, jealous tears in his eyes), and Josuke will sit there and listen like these boring recaps of the school day are the most interesting things he’s ever heard in his life.
Though to his credit, it’s nearly impossible to not get invested in even the most yawn-worthy stories when Okuyasu’s the one telling them. He always gets so animated when talking — waving his hands and arms around when describing something, unconsciously raising his voice when he gets a little too heated or excited, and going completely off-track onto another entirely unrelated story before finally getting back to the main point. He’s so entertaining that Josuke could honestly listen to him ramble on about the most nonsense things for hours. And at the very least, hearing Okuyasu so passionately talk about his day helps make Josuke feel like things are even the slightest bit normal, like they’re just hanging out together like they always do, and he’s not still trapped in this hospital barely able to walk two shaky steps forward without his bad leg giving out.
On the harder days when the pain is worse than usual and Josuke can’t manage to do it himself, Okuyasu will do his hair for him. Which is normally an idea that he would outright refuse; he won’t even let his mom do it, and will bat her hands away with a glare that immediately has her backing off every time she tries to even so much as pull his hair back. But something about letting Okuyasu do it feels different. He’s always so gentle with the hairbrush, running the bristles over Josuke’s scalp in a way that manages to instantly relax him and sometimes even helps numb some of the pain. Or maybe that’s just a placebo effect and his mind is just that desperate to feel better, but Josuke doesn’t bother to figure out what the case may be. Really, he doesn’t care that much, either; letting Okuyasu admire and touch and style his hair makes him feel oddly safe in a way that little else does, stirring up this warm feeling in his chest that he can’t quite put a name to.
Though as nice as Okuyasu’s company is, he can definitely be a little overbearing at times, Josuke has to admit. When the doctors and nurses come in to check on his stitches and bandages, or to switch out the IV and give him extra pain medicine, Okuyasu will stand in the corner of the room glaring at them like an aggressive guard dog ready to pounce and bite at a moment’s notice. Not to mention, he really is starting to act like Tomoko sometimes.
Josuke thinks both his mom and Okuyasu can be really chill and even totally unfazed when they really want to be, but that nonchalance clearly doesn’t extend to when he’s injured. At least on his mom’s part, it’s because she knows nothing. And Josuke knows she thinks the gas explosion story the news and Jotaro are trying to spin to her is total bullshit. But he’s not going to tell her the full truth anytime soon. He can’t do that to her. It’ll only make her even more worried, even more fretful as she tucks him in before leaving for the night, and it’ll crush her heart all over again to know that her father didn’t die from a stroke, but instead was murdered. That’s a conversation he can leave for later on when he’s out of the hospital, or maybe never. But Josuke knows that whether he tells her or not, that won’t stop her from anxiously worrying about him even in between all of her nagging reminders to not put strain on his leg, and to rest, and to call the nurses if he needs help instead of doing it himself.
And Okuyasu’s started to act a bit like that, too. He’s at the hospital more often than Tomoko is, since she’s still busy with work (even moreso than usual after having to take several days off to watch over Josuke), meaning he’s the one who gets to worry and be all fussy instead. Yet despite the clingy behavior, Josuke can’t deny it’s nice being cared for like that, and he finds himself looking forward to the afternoon every single day, anxiously counting down the hours and the minutes from the moment he wakes up until his best friend’s grinning face pops through the door.
Sometimes his eagerness to see Okuyasu almost makes Josuke feel like a giggly schoolgirl with a crush. And maybe he can kind of see where all the girls who like him are coming from, and can understand why they wait for him at the school gates everyday, their faces lighting up when they see him. That’s how he’s starting to feel about Okuyasu’s visits — desperate to see him, to feel that rush of excitement when he walks in the room.
…Not that he has a crush on Okuyasu or anything, though. No way.
“Yeah, but someone’s gotta take care of ya while you’re trapped in here!” Okuyasu says. He leans down to tug a plastic bag up onto the bed beside him, busying himself with pulling out whatever food he brought with him today.
“That’s what the nurses are for, dumbass,” Josuke shoots back, before his eyes fall down to the tupperware in Okuyasu’s lap. “Is that more stuff from Tonio?”
Okuyasu pauses, his cheeks suddenly turning a noticeable shade of red. Which is a bit of an odd reaction, Josuke thinks. But then Okuyasu shakes his head and transfers the food over into Josuke’s lap instead. “Nah, not from Tonio. I made it.”
“You… you made it?” Josuke repeats, staring down at the contents in disbelief. The savory aroma of tomato sauce, herbs, and melted cheese wafts up to his nose and he suddenly becomes much more aware of just how hungry he is after only eating a few bites of gross hospital cafeteria food all day. “Dude, what the hell? Have you been taking lessons from Tonio while I’ve been locked up in here?”
That gets a surprisingly bashful reaction out of Okuyasu, who just shrugs and looks away with a little smile. “Well, I asked him for some tips the last couple of times I went over an’ got some stuff for ya. But I’ve always cooked for me an’ my dad. Oh, and Aniki too, when he was still alive! Just thought it’d be nice to make somethin’ for ya instead of just relyin’ on Tonio for it.” He scratches awkwardly at his cheek as he avoids Josuke's gaze, clearly embarrassed. And seeing him so bashful like that makes Josuke’s stomach do some weird little flip that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with his hunger.
"You really didn’t have to do all that for me, Oku. But thanks," Josuke says, truly touched by the gesture as he spears the fork into the dish. Rigatoni, he thinks it is, but he’s no food expert. Especially not on foreign foods. Okuyasu watches him expectantly as he scoops some of the pasta onto the fork and brings it up to his lips for the first bite. Flavors explode across his tongue immediately — the sweet tang of tomato sauce, the sharp bite of garlic, the richness of the cheese blending together perfectly. It’s good. Really good. Almost Tonio levels of good. Josuke knew Okuyasu could cook, he’s mentioned it once or twice before, and who else does he even have to make him dinner other than himself? But this ? He really wasn’t expecting this.
“Okuyasu,” he starts immediately after swallowing the first bite, “holy shit.”
Okuyasu shifts nervously from beside him, almost like he’s waiting for Josuke to suddenly spit the food out all over the bedsheets. “Do ya not like it…?”
“No, it’s so good! You really made this?” Josuke gushes as he hastily scoops another mouthful onto the fork.
“Yeah I did, I already told ya!” Okuyasu’s brows furrow into a self-defensive little glare and he leans back ever so slightly. “Don’tcha believe me?”
“Of course I do.” Josuke pops the next bite into his mouth and chews for a few seconds before adding, “It’s just a little weird.” When Okuyasu only stares at him, confused, he elaborates: “I dunno, it’s just… between all your doting and fussing and now the homemade meals for me, you’re kinda acting like some sort of a housewife.”
Maybe that’s a little much. But Josuke can’t deny it definitely does describe, in one single word, exactly how Okuyasu’s been acting these past couple of weeks.
“A housewife ?” Okuyasu sputters, and Josuke can’t help the amused little smirk that tugs at his lips. “I ain’t no housewife, asshole!”
“I dunno, you’ve kinda been acting like one.” Josuke shrugs as he takes another bite of the pasta. The pasta that Okuyasu made specifically for him, and brought all the way to the hospital for him to eat. After spending the last half hour fussing over him and the past two weeks glued to his side. Something about the thought makes him feel oddly giddy. “Coming over to visit me for hours, bringing me food, doing my hair for me…” He can feel the delighted, shit-eating grin spread even wider across his face out of nothing but pure delight. “C’mon, don’t act like you haven’t been pampering me nonstop this whole time.”
Okuyasu huffs at that, the tips of his ears now tinged red too. "I ain't pamperin' nothin'! I've just been tryin' to keep your ungrateful ass entertained so you don't die of boredom in here!"
“Are you sure?” Josuke teases, and he knows he’s really pressing it now. Knows he should really just quit while he’s ahead instead of continuing to go on and on. But he’s finding this too entertaining, living off the strange high that comes from teasing Okuyasu like this (from seeing him turn all red and blushy), and can’t seem to get himself to stop. “At this point, why don’t you just be my wife, Oku?”
…
…
…
Shit.
That one wasn’t meant as a jab, Josuke quickly realizes as he and Okuyasu stare at each other, both stunned into complete and utter silence, the former by his own audacity and the latter supposedly by the sheer absurdity of the proposal. Because that’s almost what it feels like: a fucking proposal. Why don’t you just be my wife? Josuke doesn’t even know if he means it as a joke, because somewhere deep down, the thought of Okuyasu continuing to pamper and dote on him and bring him lovingly made home-cooked meals actually doesn’t sound entirely unappealing, the longer he thinks about it. Maybe not as his wife , because that’s stupid, why would he even say that? But still in that same kind of romantic sense, maybe it’d be okay—
What the hell, Josuke. What’s wrong with you? What are you thinking???
The only thing Josuke can hear through the blood roaring in his ears and his own thoughts screaming in his head is the sound of his heartbeat monitor, suddenly starting to beep a little more erratically.
After what feels like several minutes straight of thick, tense silence between them, Josuke finally manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his suddenly bone-dry mouth. "I, uh... Haha, I was just joking, y'know," he forces out weakly, the nervous laughter falling flat even to his own ears. He rushes to recover, stumbling over his words as he tries to find something, anything, he can say to make this even slightly less awkward than it is. "Forget I said anything! ‘Cause I’m obviously just joking, Okuyasu! I don’t want you to be my wife, o-or my husband , or anything like that, ‘cause we’re… y’know…”
Oh, he’s really, really making this worse now, isn’t he?
Josuke’s eyes frantically search the immediate area around him for any source of a distraction, immediately dropping down to the bowl still in his lap. He hastily scoops it up, attempting to spear some more pasta onto the fork. As if a bowl of all things will somehow be a decent shield that can save him from this situation, but he’s panicked and desperate. “This food is seriously amazing, I still can't believe you made this…!"
He trails off awkwardly, shoving another overfilled bite of pasta into his mouth just so he doesn't have to continue trying to talk. His face feels like it's on fire, radiating heat outwards from his cheeks all the way down his neck. Why did he say that? Why why why why why? Stupid, stupid, stupid! He resists the urge to bang his forehead against the plastic tray now resting over his lap in frustration. Dammit, he probably just made things super fucking weird between them now. Okuyasu's not even looking at him anymore, pointedly staring down at the floor instead with the tips of his ears bright red again. Normally Josuke finds that particular trait endearing, maybe even a little bit cute , but right now—
Stop. Stop it, Josuke. It’s not cute , get your shit together!
Finally, Okuyasu stands up, and Josuke feels his heart drop down to his stomach. “I, uh… should prolly get goin’. I really need to, uh… start on my homework…”
Which is the most bullshit excuse Josuke’s ever heard, because they both know Okuyasu doesn’t and won’t do his homework.
"Okuyasu, wait,” Josuke starts, reaching out to grab his friend's wrist before he can bolt out the door. Okuyasu pauses, eyes flickering between Josuke's face and the hand circled around his wrist. Josuke swallows thickly, trying to force himself to not pull away like his brain is screaming at him to do. His palm feels clammy and gross against the other’s skin, but he can't bring himself to let go just yet. Not when Okuyasu looks two seconds away from sprinting out of here and likely avoiding him for the next week out of embarrassment.
"C’mon, man, don’t go. I was just messing around, y'know? Trying to get a rise outta you." He forces a laugh, hand sliding from Okuyasu's wrist down to give his fingers a gentle, apologetic squeeze as he attempts to tug him back down. And something about that makes his skin suddenly feel all weird and tingly. "Come on, you just got here. At least stay with me ‘til I’m done eating?"
Okuyasu is quiet for a long moment, red still staining his cheeks. But finally he gives a small nod and eases himself back down onto the edge of the bed. Josuke tries not to focus too hard on how Okuyasu doesn't pull his hand out of his loose hold, instead letting their joined hands rest atop the scratchy hospital sheets. He twists some more pasta around his fork instead, pops it into his mouth, and forces himself to chew and swallow slowly around the sudden fluttering nerves in his chest.
"This really is awesome, by the way," he says after he's managed to barely get the bite down. "Seriously. You've been holding out on me with your cooking skills."
A tiny smile quirks at the corner of Okuyasu's mouth at that, some of the discomfort fading from his face. "Ah, it ain't that great..." he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. But Josuke can tell he's at least a little bit pleased by the praise.
"Yes it is," Josuke insists. "The food here sucks . I'm gonna start expecting you to cook all my meals for me once I'm outta here."
He aims a playful little nudge into Okuyasu's side with his elbow. And he swears Okuyasu almost looks... hopeful? At the suggestion? But the expression disappears so quickly Josuke wonders if he just imagined it.
"No chance, bastard. You’ve got your mom to do that for ya," Okuyasu snorts, the last of the tension disappearing from his shoulders as he relaxes again. Their hands are still loosely threaded together but neither of them pull away. And Josuke finds he doesn't really want to be the one to let go first anyway.
The silence over the next few minutes turns back into something far more comfortable and blessedly normal as Josuke finishes up the pasta, the fleeting awkwardness from earlier slowly dissipating. By the last bite, Josuke finds himself wishing there was more — partially because of how tasty it was, and partially because he isn’t ready for Okuyasu to leave yet. Yet once the tupperware is empty and he sets it aside, Okuyasu slowly stands up again and pulls his hand out of Josuke’s grasp. Josuke lets him, because he knows damn well he’s already overstepped enough for not just one day, but an entire month and maybe even multiple, and he’s definitely not about to beg Okuyasu to stay and get all cuddly and cozy with him after everything.
“I really prolly do need to go home,” Okuyasu mumbles as he gathers up the dirty tupperware and stuffs it back into the plastic bag he’d brought it in. “Need to… feed my dad an’ do some laundry an’ shit.” It’s another weak, bullshit excuse, but Josuke doesn’t dare mention that out loud.
“Right,” he agrees, hoping the disappointment doesn’t show in his voice. “I get it, it’s okay.”
But Okuyasu doesn’t make any move to leave the room. He just stands there rooted to the spot as that awful awkward silence falls over them again. Josuke swallows the lump in his throat, hoping that Okuyasu will just leave soon so he can finally smother his face in a pillow and scream to himself about how bad he fucked up.
After what must be a whole minute of very strained tension, Okuyasu finally turns to face him again. “I’ll bring more food for ya tomorrow.”
Josuke immediately perks up at that, both relieved and surprised. He’s actually going to come back tomorrow? After whatever the hell happened today? “Dude, come on. You’re here every day doing a million other different things for me. You seriously don’t have to.”
“Nah, I don’t mind.” Okuyasu shrugs, seeming perfectly nonchalant and entirely back to normal. But then he grins the same shit-eating grin that Josuke knows must have been on his own face earlier, entire demeanor shifting scarily fast. “I want to. Y’know, since I’m your wife , an’ everything. I gotta take care of my husband , right?”
And those were quite possibly the last words Josuke ever expected to come out of Okuyasu’s mouth.
He’s so caught off guard that for several moments he just sits there gaping up at him like a beached fish, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly as he tries and fails to find the words to respond to that . He feels his face start to heat up again, knows a blush is quickly spreading across his cheeks while his heart pounds away at double time inside his chest. But he can't bring himself to feel embarrassed about it when Okuyasu's grinning down at him like that, clearly pleased with his own witty comeback. Josuke's own lips spread into a matching grin almost unconsciously. Surely Okuyasu doesn’t actually mean anything by it. He’s just trying to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation and tease Josuke in return, to get back at him for the stupidity of that “joke.” So Josuke decides he’ll let Okuyasu have this one.
"Oh yeah?" he fires back. "Then you better make me something even better tomorrow to prove you're a good wife, huh?"
Okuyasu barks out a laugh at that, loud and sharp, and Josuke's heart does that weird flipping thing again at the sound. That look on his face — the fondness in his eyes as they practically shine down at Josuke, even through the smirk still pulling at his lips — makes his chest feel tight but in the best possible way.
"Ohh, is that a challenge?" Okuyasu asks, quirking one amused brow. "’Cause you're fuckin’ on, Josuke. Just you wait."
"I'll be holding you to it," Josuke answers easily. As if this is the most normal thing in the world for them, casually throwing the word wife and husband around like it didn’t just render them both completely silent for several minutes in awkward, empty quiet. The warmth lingering over his cheeks hasn't gone away, but Josuke finds that maybe... he kind of likes it. Likes that Okuyasu isn't shying away from what he said earlier and is trying to shoot back at him. It makes something that feels suspiciously like hope flicker quietly in his chest. Something that Josuke almost doesn't dare touch, not just yet, in fear of blowing it out.
But then Okuyasu's gathering everything up, actually making a move to leave this time, and Josuke bites back the request lingering on his tongue for him to stay a little longer.
“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” he instead comments lightly as he settles back against his pillows, much happier now that things aren’t feeling so weird between them anymore. He can unpack all of those other thoughts some other time, when he actually feels like addressing them. Which is definitely not right now and might even be never . “I’m excited to get a good home cooked meal again. And maybe I’ll even get a greeting kiss from my darling wife, too,” he teases, hoping that Okuyasu will fire back at him again and they can get one more good laugh in before he goes.
But Okuyasu doesn't do that. Instead he stands there quiet for a long time, before finally turning back around again, that impish smile back on his face. "That's gay as shit, Josuke."
Josuke’s face flushes, and his heart leaps so high he can feel it in his throat. Shit, was that too much? He debates backtracking, further pushing that it’s “just a joke” and they don’t have to keep the bit up any longer. But some stupider part of him says he should instead double down and keep the momentum going. So he forces out a laugh, trying his best to play it cool even as his palms grow sweaty with nerves.
"What, you saying you don't wanna give your husband a kiss?" he asks teasingly as he leans back against his mountain of pillows.
Okuyasu's grin only grows wider at that, almost bordering on a smirk that seems so suddenly uncharacteristic, yet undeniably hot . “Oi, Josuke, you’re really pushin’ it, huh? Ya want one that bad?” Slowly, he steps closer to the bed until he’s standing right next to it again. Josuke swallows thickly but doesn't dare break eye contact. Not when Okuyasu is looking at him like that — eyes dark, lips curled in a way that makes Josuke's insides squirm pleasantly. He wonders if Okuyasu can hear how hard his heart is pounding right now. Wonders if he notices the way his fingers curl almost desperately into the scratchy fabric of his bedsheets, anticipation and something that feels suspiciously like want coursing through his veins, setting his nerves alight. Okuyasu leans in close, bridging the gap between them until his face is mere inches away from Josuke's. So close that Josuke can feel Okuyasu's hot breath ghosting over his skin, can see the way his eyes flicker down to glance at Josuke's lips. Josuke's own eyes threaten to slip shut, and he wonders if he should tilt his head a little, purse his lips together, lean in a little bit closer—
"Hmm... I dunno..." Okuyasu hums, eyes practically sparkling with mischief and something far warmer. Something that makes Josuke ache. Makes him yearn to close that tiny distance still left between them. But before he can even think to move Okuyasu is already pulling back, lips still curled into that infuriating, smug little grin. "I think I'll make ya wait 'til tomorrow for it."
Josuke can't hold back the indignant noise that punches its way out of his throat then, making him sound like some angry, disgruntled bird. His face suddenly burns and his heart hammers away embarrassingly fast, but all he can do is splutter uselessly for a few seconds while Okuyasu cackles at his reaction. That asshole. That complete and utter asshole!
"F-fuck you!" Josuke finally manages to choke out between Okuyasu's loud guffaws of laughter, grabbing one of the smaller pillows beside him and chucking it as hard as he can manage in his friend's direction. But the action only makes Okuyasu laugh even harder and Josuke wonders if it's possible to actually die from excessive humiliation. He groans, dragging the thin hospital sheets up over his head in a vain attempt to hide the raging blush he can feel burning all the way down his neck. God fucking dammit. He should have known better than to let himself actually believe for even a second that Okuyasu was being serious.
Eventually, after what feels like five minutes but is in reality probably no longer than one or two, Okuyasu’s laughs finally taper out. Josuke hears him stepping closer again, then hears him shyly offer, “I could, uh… kiss ya on the cheek instead?”
Josuke feels his cheeks heat up even more at that — if that's even possible at this point. A kiss on the cheek? Even after that awful bout of humiliation? He's not sure if he should feel touched at the sweet gesture or pissed off that Okuyasu is still messing with him so much. Probably an infuriating mixture of both.
Slowly, hesitantly, he peeks his head out from under the safety of his sheet cocoon. Okuyasu is still standing there beside his bed, a fond smile on his face now instead of that shit-eating grin from earlier. And the way he's looking down at Josuke — so gentle and soft and affectionate — makes his stupid heart skip several more beats. Dammit. How does Okuyasu manage to go from being so infuriating to so endearing in 2 seconds? It's almost impressive. Josuke huffs, burrowing down into his blankets a bit more and avoiding the other's gaze.
"I don't want your pity kisses," Josuke grumbles halfheartedly, unable to put any real bite behind the complaint.
Another laugh escapes past Okuyasu's lips then and Josuke risks another glance upwards at the sound. And oh god he immediately regrets it because Okuyasu is leaning down towards him again with that soft little smile still in place, intentions very clear. Before Josuke can so much as sputter out another embarrassed complaint there's a gentle pressure against his cheek. Warm slightly chapped lips pressing lightly against his cheek. It's barely even a real kiss — just the barest brush of lips over his skin. But it steals the very breath from Josuke's lungs regardless, and his eyes flutter shut before he can stop them.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it's over. Okuyasu pulls back slowly, retracting his lips. Cold air hits Josuke's cheek, left behind in the absence of his mouth, and his eyes blink open slowly, still not quite believing what just happened. His friend straightens back up to his full height, grinning down at him in accomplishment.
"There. Don't say I never did nothin' nice for ya, Josuke," Okuyasu says with a snort. And before Josuke can fully process that yes, Okuyasu really just kissed him on the cheek, his friend is already grabbing his things and heading for the door. "I'll see ya tomorrow, 'kay?"
Josuke nods wordlessly, face positively burning. He lifts a hand to his cheek as he watches Okuyasu slip out the door with a jaunty little wave thrown over his shoulder. His skin still tingles slightly under his fingertips, right at the spot where his best friend’s lips just were.
"Dammit Okuyasu..." Josuke mumbles under his breath once he's alone. He buries his flaming face back into his cocoon of blankets with a groan, sure he won't be getting even a wink of sleep tonight. Not with the feeling of Okuyasu's lips still lingering against his skin.
And he swears the loud, telltale racing of the heart rate monitor picks up again, stuttering out a damning rhythm for anyone within earshot to hear.