Work Text:
Fukuzawa can’t say he loves having Ranpo living with him, but neither would he say he hates it. The kid is very loud and energetic, all but bouncing off the walls at all times. It’s pretty exhausting. So when Ranpo isn’t the first one awake, loudly yammering about needing breakfast, Fukuzawa is instantly alert. It’s too quiet in the apartment.
He throws the blankets off of himself and quietly gets up from his futon. The door creaks as he opens it, and one of the floorboards beneath his feet makes a noise, but other than that there’s nothing. He creeps down the hall on feet trained for stealth.
Then he hears something. It’s very soft, and if he were anyone else he would’ve thought he misheard, but Fukuzawa doesn’t mishear. He waits, and sure enough it happens again. A soft, high whimpering sound, coming from Ranpo’s room.
“Ranpo?” he calls, swiftly turning the handle and stepping into the room. That sound is far too quiet for Ranpo. The boy is loud and bright, not soft. He shouldn’t sound like he’s hurting. There’s a bundle of blankets on the futon in the middle of the floor that shakes, and after a moment another whimper sounds from it. “Ranpo, what’s the matter?”
He scans the room for anything amiss, anything Ranpo could have hurt himself with. He finds nothing.
“It hurts,” Ranpo whines. It’s not his normal whining. Ranpo is absolutely in pain.
“What hurts?” Fukuzawa presses, tugging the blankets away. Ranpo is curled up on his side, his hands pressed tightly to the sides of his head. “What’s happened? Have you hit your head?”
“No, it just hurts,” he gasps out, eyes squeezed shut. He makes another noise of pain and shoves his face into the pillow.
“Why?” Fukuzawa demands, prying Ranpo up by the shoulders until he’s in a seated position, even though the boy fights harder than he’s ever seen him do to remain laying down. “Ranpo, answer me.”
“It just happens!” he cries, eyes flying open, tears making them shiny and glassy. “It happens- sometimes. My head hurts really really bad. For no reason.” Fukuzawa releases him, but he doesn’t lie back down.
Fukuzawa knows what a migraine is. He’s had one or two before, but never when he was a child. He’s not sure exactly what he can even do to help in this kind of situation. He stands, moving over to the windows and closing the blinds. Light hurts, he knows that much.
“How do you typically handle them?” he asks as he returns to Ranpo’s side. Unhelpfully, the boy simply shrugs. “Medicine? Food?” Ranpo looks a little green at that, shaking his head. “There must be something.”
“My mom would let me sleep in the bed with her,” Ranpo murmurs. Fukuzawa’s insides curdle. Yeah, there’s nothing he can really do there. It’s awkwardly silent for multiple minutes after that as Fukuzawa tries to figure out something he can do to help. He gets lost in his own head for a moment, just thinking. He’s brought back when Ranpo’s too-thin arms wrap around him, his little face burying itself in Fukuzawa’s chest. It feels remarkably similar to that night, but without the heart pounding anxiety.
Fukuzawa hesitates for barely a moment before embracing Ranpo back. It’s funny, how the little boy fits perfectly, like they’re puzzle pieces meant to be. It doesn’t feel so unnatural as he thought it might. It’s almost nice.
“Would you like something to eat? Drink?” he asks, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Ranpo’s head, his fingers tangling into his hair.
“Mm-mm,” Ranpo whimpers, shaking his head a little. Then he corrects himself. “Water.”
“I’ll have to get up to get it for you,” Fukuzawa says. Ranpo’s arms tighten. “Ranpo, this isn’t going to work.” But, really, he doesn’t want to let go either. It feels safe like this, like nothing can get either of them. “Here.” He maneuvers Ranpo’s legs to settle around his waist, then heaves him up. He’s entirely too light for a kid his age, or, at least, Fukuzawa thinks so. He stands, Ranpo clinging to him like a koala. “It will be bright, keep your eyes covered.”
The boy does as asked, staying very still as Fukuzawa exits his room, heading towards the kitchen, so unlike his usual behavior. Ranpo is never still, always moving, fidgeting, an endless well of energy. He’s never been this still, not even in his sleep.
He fills a glass with water with one hand, and grabs the bottle of Advil from the cabinet as well. They return to the bedroom, and Ranpo is shifted into his lap instead, his head on Fukuzawa’s chest, legs over his knees.
“Here,” he says, softly, tipping the glass to the kid’s lips. Ranpo drinks greedily, so much so that Fukuzawa pulls it away. “Slower. You should take these, as well.” He unscrews the cap and tips two little pills into his hand, then second-guesses himself. Ranpo is a child, and a skinny one at that. Is two too many? It doesn’t matter, though, because Ranpo wrinkles his nose and turns his head away. “They’ll help.”
“They taste icky,” Ranpo mutters.
“Not if you swallow them quickly,” Fukuzawa replies.
“I don’t want them,” says Ranpo, tucking closer. “I don’t.”
“They will help,” Fukuzawa insists. Ranpo simply does not care, shaking his head and hiding his face. Fukuzawa sighs and nudges Ranpo’s cheek with the glass, allowing him to finish off the water.
The silence returns. It isn’t uncomfortable. The weight against him is somehow very nice, and Ranpo seems more than content. For a long time they sit like this, until Fukuzawa notices that Ranpo’s breathing has even and deepened in such a way that indicates he has fallen asleep. He smiles, huffing a short laugh. He’d stay like this for longer if he weren’t so hungry. Reluctantly he lays Ranpo down on his futon, tucking the blanket around him and smoothing his hair off his face.
This boy was never meant to make him feel like this. He was never supposed to care. But he does. He can’t deny it any longer, he does.
He comes back once he has eaten. Parking himself in the corner, he opens a book. He will be here when Ranpo wakes up. Today, tomorrow, and probably for years to come.