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Yuuji doesn’t get sick. Or when he does, it’s pretty minor. A sniffly nose and a cough here and there are the brunt of it, and usually, he can just deny it until it goes away.
He hates being sick. When he was a kid, it always felt like too much of a hassle; he would have to stay home from school, it would burden his grandfather, and worst of all, he just felt weak.
Most of the time, Yuuji just pretends that he isn’t sick, and his immune system usually kicks in and saves him before it gets worse. And yeah, he had a tickle in his throat and sneezed a couple of times yesterday, but that was it. He was certain that his body would just fix itself like it always does, and Yuuji would go about his week.
It doesn’t.
When Yuuji wakes up the next morning, his head is pounding, his throat is raw, and he’s aching all over. He rolls out of bed, and the movement causes the aches to get worse. He stumbles into the bathroom and tries his best to get ready for the day.
To his credit, he tries. He really, truly tries. But when he starts getting lightheaded in the second minute of brushing his teeth, Yuuji decides to give up.
He staggers back to his bed and plops onto it unceremoniously. After rooting through his side table, he finds some expired cold medicine and decides that it’s better than trying to drag himself to the common room to get the regular stuff.
Wait. Fushiguro. He was supposed to train with him this morning, but in this state, no way that was happening. He already struggled to keep up with Fushiguro when they sparred; if he tried to train with him now, Yuuji thinks he would pass out in the first two minutes.
He punches out a quick text to Fushiguro to tell him he wasn’t feeling well, downs the cold medicine, and flops onto the bed. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt, right?
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
Loud knocking pulls Yuuji from his sleep.
He blinks his eyes open as they adjust to the low light. Yuuji rubs away the crust with his hands and sits up slowly, his mind still groggy. God, what time was it? A glance at the window revealed a pink and orange skyline. Did he just sleep through the whole day?
The knocking continues, and Yuuji drowsily pulls himself out of bed, clicking on the lamp.
He swings the door open and is faced with his best friend.
No matter how many times Yuuji sees him, he never gets over how perfect Fushiguro looks. Even in the shitty dorm lighting, his hair is silky black, falling over his eyes — he really needed to cut his bangs before they got too long. Fushiguro’s scars are healing well; no longer angry and red, but calmed to a muted brown that cut through his emerald green eyes.
Fushiguro is frowning, a stubborn furrow settled between his brows. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Yuuji deadpans. His gaze flits down to his hands, where he is holding a tray. “What’s that?”
“Soup.” Fushiguro nods his head, asking to enter. “Where can I set this down?”
Yuuji stared at him open-mouthed. “I-why?”
“Because you’re sick,” Fushiguro says, shouldering past Yuuji the second he opens the door wide enough. He gestures to Yuuji’s side table. “Is here fine?”
“Yeah,” Yuuji breathes, noting how his voice comes out scratchy. He sits back on his bed, pulling the tray into his lap. “You didn’t have to.”
Fushiguro shrugs, getting into the bed next to him. Yuuji’s heartbeat races, for reasons he doesn’t quite know.
Yuuji stares at the soup, lost in thought. It was sweet, but completely unexpected. Did Fushiguro just do this for everyone when they’re sick?
Fushiguro frowns, noticing that Yuuji hasn’t touched the soup yet. “Do you want me to—“
“No!” Yuuji nearly screeches. Heat rushes to his face; that was too much. “I’m good, I’m not that sick.”
He hastily shoves a spoonful of soup in his mouth and shoots his best friend a smile.
“Wait, this is really good,” Yuuji says, slurping another spoonful. “Where did you get this?”
Fushiguro averts his gaze, but Yuuji can see that the tips of his ears are red. “I made it.”
“I thought you didn’t cook?” It was one of the first things he’d learned about Fushiguro, actually. A pang of nostalgia overcomes him; it felt like decades since he’d started at JJ Tech and met Fushiguro, even though it’s only been a little over a year.
Memories of making meatballs felt hazy, cast in the rosy glow of a past life. Where their skin was unmarred, eyes still bright with youth.
Fushiguro huffs. “I don’t, not really. But I know how to make this.”
Yuuji takes another sip. It goes down his throat smoothly and soothes the scratchiness; he almost sighs at the instant relief. The flavors are familiar, but the combination is foreign to him. “And what exactly is this?”
“Sick-sick soup.”
Yuuji gulps, trying to stop the chuckle that threatens to escape him. He’s sure that his face is screwed up in a weird expression, but it’s hard to hold it in when faced with Fushiguro’s all-to-serious frown. “…sick…sick soup?”
“Don’t laugh,” Fushiguro chastises, pouting. “That’s just what she used to call it.”
“She?” Yuuji asks, relishing in the burn of the soup down his throat.
“Tsumiki. She did all the cooking usually, and would make this for me when I was sick. And I learned to make it for her when she was sick. We’ve kind of just improvised it over the years.” Even in the dim light, Yuuji could make out a faint blush on Fushiguro’s cheeks. “I thought it would help.”
“Thanks,” Yuuji breathes, his heart beating way too fast for his liking. “It is. Helping, that is.”
“Good. I’m-that’s good.” Fushiguro nods.
They sit like that for a moment while Yuuji finishes the soup. He’s not sure why Megumi hasn’t left yet, but Yuuji’s not complaining.
In fact, it’s nice to have him close by, his presence healing in and of itself.
Fushiguro clears his throat, and Yuuji looks up from his bowl. “There is another thing I used to do for my sister when she was sick. If you’re still not feeling better.”
“Hm?” Yuuji hums, mouth still full.
Fushiguro sighs, making the hand sign Yuuji knew all too well.
Demon dog black jumps onto the bed excitedly, nearly knocking the tray out of Yuuji’s hands.
“Doggie!” Yuuji exclaims, while Fushiguro steadies the tray.
“Down boy,” Fushiguro scolds. The shikigami whines, but settles down, nestling itself in the space between the two boys.
Yuuji smiles, petting the dog’s head. “Thank you, Fushiguro. I’m feeling better already.”
Fushiguro blushes. “It’s no problem.”
It feels nice to be taken care of like this. It was a luxury that Yuuji didn’t have for a while. After his grandfather got sick, Yuuji was the one who filled the caretaker role, always tending to his grandfather and making sure he was ok. And since joining the school, there hasn’t been a time when Yuuji could even let himself be taken care of.
A warm feeling settles in his stomach, melting with the soup.
Fushiguro digs through his bag, pulling out a couple of pills and some CDs. “Here, once you finish, take some more medicine. It’s nighttime, so it’ll knock you out. And I found these in Gojo’s stash in the basement.”
Yuuji swallows the pills quickly, washing them down with the last of the soup. He sets the tray aside and takes the CDs from Fushiguro’s hand. “No way, these are all Tamanaki films! The same guy who created Human Earthworm!”
“Yeah, I figured you’d be interested. Since you were trying to drag Kugisaki and me to watch it all the time,” Fushiguro explains. He shuffles awkwardly, wringing his hands. “Well, I’ll leave you to it—“
“Wait!” Yuuji grabs Fushiguro’s hand. Fushiguro looks up at him, eyes wide, and Yuuji drops it with an awkward smile. “I mean, you should stay! These movies are better with company, after all.”
“Oh, ok.” Fushiguro blinks. Demon dog black nuzzles his hand, and Fushiguro scratches behind his ears, causing his tail to thump in Yuuji’s lap. “I’ll stay.”
Yuuji grabs his laptop and sets the movie up. The telltale music of the franchise starts playing, and he looks over at Fushiguro, paying rapt attention to the screen while giving Demon Dog slow pets.
He could get used to this.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
When Yuuji wakes up, his mouth is full of fur. He blinks his eyes open to the pitch black room, eyes adjusting to the dim light.
He can feel Demon dog breathe against him, slow and steady.
Wait. Not Demon dog.
As his eyes adjust, Yuuji realizes the shikigami is nowhere to be found, and instead, his arms are wrapped around the sleeping form of his best friend.
Fushiguro’s face is nestled in his neck, and his body is pressed flush against Yuuji’s.
Yuuji pulls back, studying his best friend’s face as it glows in the moonlight.
Fushiguro looks so peaceful like this. His long eyelashes brush against his porcelain skin, and his eyebrows are relaxed and unfurrowed. Yuuji wants to memorize it, wants to engrave it into the very furrows of his brain.
A quick check of his phone shows that he has about five more hours to sleep.
He rests his chin on Fushiguro’s head and pulls him close, letting sleep overcome him again.
‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅
When Yuuji wakes up again, he feels something wet on his face. Then a tongue, licking a strip from his chin to his forehead.
His eyes fly open, and he is met with a panting mass of fur looking down at him. Demon Dog yips at him and licks his face again.
Yuuji laughs and pushes the dog off, sitting up against the headboard. “Down boy,” he chastises.
The dog huffs, but plops down beside him.
Yuuji sighs. His throat feels much better, and there was only a little bit of snot left in his nose. His body is no longer aching — in fact, he feels rejuvenated, as if he had just come back from a spa day.
He checks the time on his phone. There are a couple of messages on his screen, including one from Fushiguro. ‘Don’t worry about training this morning, ’ it reads. ‘We’ll train later, get some rest.’
Yuuji frowns. He could’ve sworn that Fushiguro had stayed the night. It must have been a dream then, a fleeting figment of his imagination, or a fever-induced hallucination.
Yeah, that’s what it was. A hallucination.
Yuuji scratches behind the dog’s ears, and its tail thumps against the bed. “Thanks, bud.”
Demon dog jumps off his bed, dissolving into shadows with a satisfied bark.
On his desk, Yuuji finds his laptop with a pink sticky note on the screen. There was a timestamp written in Fushiguro’s neat script from where the movie left off. Always considerate.
He smiled, thinking of the night. The warm soup, the great movie, the sweet dog.
Fushiguro.
Maybe getting sick wasn’t so bad after all.