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Chuuya found Akutagawa exactly where he’d expected to: perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, spine too straight, hands folded in his lap like he was awaiting judgment instead of… well. Being taken care of.
“Ryuu,” Chuuya sighed, toeing his shoes off. “You’re gonna end up feeling worse than you already feel sittin’ like that.”
“I am fine,” Akutagawa said immediately, voice hoarse and unconvincing. He sniffed, then stubbornly tried to swallow it down.
Chuuya took one look at the pale face, the slightly glassy eyes, the way Rashōmon drooped like a tired cat’s tail—and his expression softened completely.
“Uh-huh. Sure you are.” He crossed the room and gently but firmly pushed Akutagawa’s shoulders back. “Lie down.”
Akutagawa blinked. “…Sir—”
“Chuuya,” he corrected, already tugging a blanket up and over Akutagawa’s legs. “And don’t ‘Sir’ me when you’re sick. Makes you sound like you’re gonna apologize for breathin’.”
Akutagawa went quiet at that, allowing himself to be tucked in. The blanket smelled faintly like Chuuya’s cologne and laundry detergent, warm and familiar. He curled into it without realizing.
Chuuya returned with a mug of tea, carefully balanced, and held it out. “Slow sips. It’s hot.”
Akutagawa hesitated, then took it with both hands. His fingers brushed Chuuya’s, cold compared to Chuuya’s steady warmth.
“…Thank you,” he murmured stiffly.
Chuuya watched him drink, nodding approvingly. “There we go. See? Not so hard lettin’ someone help.”
Akutagawa’s shoulders loosened a fraction. He leaned back into the couch, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.
Chuuya noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting beside him. He reached out without thinking and brushed a few stray strands of black hair from Akutagawa’s forehead. “You can sleep. I’ve got you.”
Akutagawa’s lashes trembled. “…You will stay?”
Chuuya snorted, fond. “Kid, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He shifted so Akutagawa’s head rested against his side, an arm settling around his shoulders like it belonged there. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for soup.”
“…Soup?” Akutagawa echoed faintly.
“Yeah. The good kind. Don’t look at me like that—I know how to cook one thing, and it’s soup.”
That earned the smallest, sleepiest huff of aprovle.
Akutagawa relaxed fully then, weight settling against Chuuya, breathing evening out as he drifted off. Rashōmon curled around them both, protective and calm.
Chuuya glanced down at him, expression soft and proud.
“Stubborn as hell,” he muttered fondly, adjusting the blanket one more time. “But you’re doin’ good, Ryuu. Real good.”
He stayed like that, hand warm and steady at Akutagawa’s shoulder, until the tea went cold and Akutagawa slept without nightmares—safe, cared for, and very warm.