Chapter Text
Fukuzawa knew something was off at dinner. Atsushi normally had a healthy appetite and seldom needed prompting to eat. In fact sometimes, Fukuzawa was often forced to remind Atsushi not to scarf down food and choke himself, but rather to eat a little slower. Today, that was not the case. The teenager had barely picked at the food on his plate, instead poking at it like he was attempting some sort of weird dissection experiment.
The idea that something was off was further confirmed when everyone else got up to take their plate to the kitchen for washing and Atsushi stayed seated. In fact, Fukuzawa was willing to bet that Atsushi hadn’t even realized that he was the only one still at the table.
“Atsushi? Are you ok?” Fukuzawa frowned.
Atsushi jerked violently in the direction of Fukuzawa's voice.
“Fine,” he paused to clear his throat, “I’m fine.”
Fukuzawa narrowed his eyes, but decided not to press the matter. Perhaps Atsushi was just tired. After all, he had recently started high school and being in a new environment with exposure to lots of people meant he was probably overwhelmed. A good night’s sleep should do the trick.
He was wrong.
Atsushi was worse in the morning, swaying slightly in his seat at the breakfast table. However, despite the fact that he was clearly feeling unwell, the teen was bravely trying to cover it up. He made an effort to eat, but only managed a few bites. It was a pitiful sight.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” Fukuzawa offered.
He made a mental note to call the school and let them know that Atsushi would be unable to attend classes today.
“N-no. M’fine,” Atsushi wetly coughed into his sleeve.
“You are sick,” Fukuzawa sighed gently.
Atsushi froze, looking like a cornered animal.
“Please. No. I’ll get better. You won’t even know I was sick,” he insisted.
Fukuzawa held back a sigh. He knew what was wrong. Fear. The word was nearly inseparable from Atsushi, even after living with Fukuzawa for almost a year.
“It’s alright Atsushi. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re not going to be punished for getting sick,” Fukuzawa assured his youngest son.
The words did little to soothe Atsushi. He sat there trembling, though Fukuzawa wasn’t sure if it was from being sick or being afraid.
“Why don’t you go back to bed, hm?” Fukuzawa prompted, tried to nudge his youngest son from the table.
“I’m not sick,” Atsushi insisted, hunching over as he coughed several more times.
At the same time, Ranpo entered the room. Whatever he had come in to do was quickly forgotten when he saw Atsushi.
“Don’t infect me with the plague. I have important work to do,” Ranpo backed away, a hand over his mouth and nose.
“Ranpo….” Fukuawa did not feel like dealing with Ranpo’s dramatics this morning.
Ranpo caught the warning tone in Fukuzawa’s voice and shrugged.
“What? It’s true,” Ranpos shrugged.
“You could be a little more tactful,” Fukzawa sighed.
This was a talk that he had over and over again with Ranpo. It seemed that his eldest might never learn that there were times to soften the truth.
“Fine. Please keep all of your nasty germs to yourself as I am too important at the moment to be stricken with such ailments,” Ranpo called over his shoulder.
Fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t any better. At least Atsushi was too out of it to notice the less than endearing words. The next half an hour saw Fukuzawa getting the rest of his kids ready for the day. Kunikida dragged a still more than half asleep Dazai out the door to their internship at the Detective Agency. Kyouka sat by the front door, waiting for Atsushi. Typically the two of them walked to school together since their schools were only a few blocks apart. However, after seeing Atsushi, Kyouka agreed to walk to school by herself.
Finally, it was only Fukuzawa and Atsush in the house. The teen was still hunched over at the table. It seemed that he was determined to sit there and suffer in silence. Fukuzaw took matters into his own hands. He scooped up Atsushi like the teen was a child. Atsushi must have been feeling bad because he did nothing to fight it.
“You need rest,” Fukuzawa laid his son down on his futon.
“Not sick,” Atsushi sniffled, blinking clearly at Fukuzawa.
“Yes, you are. Now rest,” Fukuzawa gently commanded.
He spent the day at home, doing what work he could off of his personal computer. He checked on Atsushi every so often. The teen had fallen into a fitful rest. He was running a mild fever, nothing bad, but still enough to sap all of Atsushi’s energy.
Fukuzawa almost texted Yosano to see if she had any advice. He wished that his elder daughter wasn’t away with friends in Kyoto for a week longer. Then he shook his head. No, it would be better to let Atsushi build up his immune system than to always rely on Yosano to heal every little cough.
It was just after lunch when the vomiting ensued.
The first thing that clued Fukuzawa into the fact that something was wrong were the frantic footsteps in the hallway. A moment later retching could be heard from the bathroom. Fukuzawa peaked inside. Atsushi was kneeling over the toilet, spitting strings of bile.
Fukuzawa said nothing but he crouched down next to Atsushi, gently rubbing the quivering back. Atsushi vomited a few more times before there was absolutely nothing left in his system. Fukuzawa gave him water to rinse out his mouth.
The poor teen spent the rest of the day huddled either over the toilet or a bowl. Fukuzawa was thankful to see that by the evening, Atsushi was feeling marginally better. As he checked on Atsushi one last time before bed he nodded. Everyone had been out of the house today, so no doubt in the morning, everything would be better.
He was wrong.
He was so very wrong.