Work Text:
“Nakamigawa, please…”
Hiroaki didn't flinch, he didn't move a muscle as Takeshi wrapped his hands around his, even when Takeshi flinched himself. When Nakamigawa dropped the pen, he could see how badly his hands were shaking, but Takeshi didn't expect them to be so cold.
He had told him he was too warm to wear his regular clothes and Takeshi could see that he was sweating. His hands tighten as he squeezes Hiroaki, who inhales shakily, finally ready to respond.
“I'm f- fine…”
Ojima half-laughs, half-sobs, although he finds nothing funny in Hiroaki’s statement, “Would you stop saying that?”
“Th- then what do you want me to say?” the brunette counters with a harsh sniff. He wiped his face before bringing his hand back to Ojima’s, intertwining their fingers together. “I'm not gonna lie to you, Takeshi. Why is– why is this affecting you so much?”
A louder sob. It only manages to wrench Hiroaki's heart, which confuses the hell out of him. Before he could press the issue any further, Takeshi’s gasp utterly guts him, “B- because does it… occur to you… at all th- that I might care, N- Nakamigawa?”
Hiroaki shakes his head and bites down on his lower lip, suddenly ashamed. He felt angry at Takeshi. Angry at him for not acting like it, or saying anything sooner, or helping him out. Wasn't everything supposed to be better when someone cared for you? Why wasn't anything better?!
A different kind of warmth enveloped him. A moment after he registered what it was, Hiroaki slammed his sketchbook shut, turning to reprimand the taller one. His efforts melted when Takeshi buried his face into his brown hair, fingers gently stroking the hairs on the back of his neck.
“... You know what always calms me down?”
“T- Takeshi?”
“You should take a shower then we should try and get some rest… okay?”
“O- okay,” Hiroaki sniffs again. He wraps his arms around Ojima in return and, despite having agreed, refuses to let him go.