Work Text:
Ritsu walked back and forth past the dorm door a few times, eventually slowing and taking a deep breath. He raised a fist and rested it on the door. With one last check of his phone, he relented.
“Ma~kun,” Ritsu called out as he knocked. “Maaaaa~kun…” When there was no answer, he pouted and closed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten a response from Mao for a few days, which usually only happened when he’d done something wrong.
It didn’t exactly come out of nowhere. He’d been too clingy again, written off Mao’s attachment to Trickstar as less important. He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it was a mistake. Seeing the little pout and pulled eyebrows was punishment enough, he didn’t need the silent treatment to know he’d messed up.
He was just… frustrated. It felt like Mao either knew exactly what he was thinking and continuously brushed him off or didn’t know anything at all. Ritsu wasn’t sure what was worse. After all these years, all these constant reiterations of how much Mao meant to him, receiving nothing more than the usual placating words or being ignored entirely was cruel. It hurt more and more every time, like stakes driven right into his chest that should shatter whatever lack of a soul vampires had.
At the end of the day, that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how hurt he was, how much he could collapse on Arashi’s lap and complain about his woes, how stung he felt whenever he was rebuffed with an ‘okay!’ or thumbs up. Not having Mao in his life was worse than any of that. Even though he didn’t rely on him the same amount as he used to, not being around him or exchanging words with him at least once a day ached. As if the hole in his chest was wrenched bigger with every ignored text.
And so here he was. Relenting, giving in, willing to get down and beg if he had to, maybe. With a glance up and down the hall, he sighed again and rested his forehead on the wood.
“Ma~kun…?” he called again, softer. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, Ma~kun. You know I didn’t mean any of that, I never do.” When there was still silence, he rested his hand on the handle.
“Kurocchi, “Oshisan”-san and Secchan aren’t home, but I know you haven’t been at Trickstar meetings, Hoke-kun told me. Don’t… don’t let me get in the way of your dreams, Ma~kun.” When there was only more silence, he grumbled. “Ma~kun! Do I have to lie myself down on a bed of nails for you to walk? Answer me!” In his frustration, he had gripped the handle of the door, and it opened slowly. Ritsu blinked, then peeked his head into the room.
It was dark inside, and smelt… strong. Not necessarily bad, just… An overwhelming scent of sweat and Mao. Ritsu knew Shu and Izumi were back in Europe, and Kuro had been on location for a film for a few days, so was this really how Mao lived when he was alone?
Ritsu opened his mouth to call out, but then the sliver of light from the door caught on a lump under a thick blue blanket. He slid inside, closing the door quietly behind him (and actually locking it this time).
Ritsu’s eyes didn’t take long to adjust. The room was almost as clean as usual, since all four occupants were always either worried about their image (in the case of Shu and Izumi) or their impacts on other people (the other two). The only mess was around Mao’s bed, clothes strewn around among the manga that would usually be lovingly stacked on his bedside. He came to a stop next to the bed, hearing soft wheezing breaths from its occupant.
Selfish relief flooded Ritsu’s system. This meant that firstly, he wasn’t being ignored, and secondly, Mao didn’t hear any of the embarrassing grovelling he did outside the door. As he gazed at a sweaty, shivering Mao, Ritsu smiled.
After allowing himself that moment, he set about tidying up. He was usually resistant to infection anyway, and there was no way Mao could still be upset with him if he was nursing him back to health, could he?
Ritsu took his time, preparing some honey tea dubbed by Hajime as being ‘healing’ and some hot soup in the kitchen and wetting a towel. He put the tray down on Kuro’s bed and leaned over Mao.
His hair was plastered to his face, his skin pale as he twitched in his sleep. Ritsu watched him for a while with some kind of satisfaction. It was comforting to know that Mao had been suffering more than him during their ‘fight’. This is what happened when Ritsu wasn’t by his side. When he wasn’t there, Mao was reduced to this.
He knelt down, brushing Mao’s hair back from his face. In a final moment of selfishness, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the skin he constantly fought the urge to kiss.
“Ma~kun,” he whispered, stroking his hair gently and putting the cold towel on his forehead. Mao’s face twitched again. A tiny noise came from his throat. “Wake up, darling~.” Mao made a grumbling noise and shifted his grip on the blankets. His eyes squinted open slowly.
“Nngh… Ricchan…?” He mumbled. Ritsu felt a little thrill in his chest, deciding that that word alone was worth all this extra effort he’d painstakingly put in.
“You should feel bad for making me worry, Ma~kun,” Ritsu murmured. He smiled at Mao’s weak noise of reply. “You didn’t even read my texts.”
“‘m sorry,” Mao breathed out, and Ritsu almost rolled his eyes. Mao was the only person who could be in such a pathetic position and still find the strength to apologise.
After another few moments of Ritsu stroking Mao’s hair, Mao suddenly sat up, startling them both and making him clutch his head.
“Y-you can’t be here— Ritsu, you’ll get sick—”
“Ma~kun,” Ritsu soothed, pressing the cool towel to his forehead again before wrapping it around the back of his neck. Mao groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered from the cold feeling on his heated skin. “Let your wife take care of you, ‘kay~?”
“Ritsu…” Mao grumbled, but took a breath. He was clearly too delirious to argue, since he just stayed quiet. Ritsu found himself appreciating this sick Mao more and more.
“Now that you’re up,” Ritsu began, shifting the blankets and manoeuvring him so he was sitting against his pillows. He put the tray onto his lap and watched as Mao got that sheepish look in his eye the way he always did when anyone tried to treat him as selflessly as he treated them. Mao was lucky that Ritsu was getting a lot out of this. “Do you need me to feed you~?”
“Ritsu, you didn’t have to do all this…” he mumbled, but answered him by eating a spoonful and humming softly.
“I’ll be expecting big favours from you in return,” he smiled wickedly, giggling at Mao’s groan.
“Enough with your favour tally,” he said limply, lacking the usual bite. Ritsu nudged the mug a little closer.
“This is Ha~kun’s special healing blend, Ma~kun, so you should be up to repay me within the hour,” Ritsu watched Mao drink the honey tea. “And if not, then it’d be rude to Ha~kun~.”
“It is good,” Mao whispered hoarsely. He took another sip and closed his eyes to savour it. After a few moments, he cracked an eye open and shifted a bit. “Are you just going to watch me…?”
“I’m being diligent, how ungrateful…” Ritsu pouted and fake-sobbed. “To be so mean to your sweet nurse, ue, uee… Healthcare workers really are treated poorly…” Mao just continued eating without acknowledging it, nudging him after a while with a small smile.
“Thank you for checking up on me, Ricchan,” he said, sobering Ritsu from his fake crying almost immediately. “And for all this.”
“Mm, well, people were worried,” Ritsu moved the towel back to Mao’s forehead. He wiped at his face and relished how he closed his eyes and let him.
“Ah, shit, yeah, I think I just managed to text Subaru before…” Mao trailed off and squinted at the digital clock on his bedside. “Uh… How long has it been…?”
“What if I said you were trapped in my special realm where time doesn’t matter?” Ritsu lilted, sitting on Mao’s bed. Mao huffed.
“Then I would ask for the answer in regular human hours, Master Ritsu,” he said tiredly, sipping at the tea. Ritsu almost felt bad for teasing him so much.
“You’ve missed two days of practice,” he said, squishing Mao’s cheek with the towel. “And two days of texting me. We had a date tomorrow, remember…?”
“Ah…” Mao looked down. Ritsu huffed.
“Will you stop looking so pathetic, Ma~kun? I’m meant to be making you better.”
“I’ll make it tomorrow, still.” Mao met his gaze, his chapped lips pressed together in determination. Ritsu shook his head fondly. He pulled the towel back and stood up.
“You’re annoying,” he said, moving to the bathroom to re-drench the towel in cold water. Mao pouted while he ran the cloth under the tap.
“Wait, how did you even get in…?”
“Ufufu, while most vampires need to be invited in,” Ritsu began after wringing out the towel. “I’ve already been accepted into your heart, so I have all the permission I need~.”
“Ah, did I forget to lock the door? I pretty much collapsed after getting back—” Mao cut himself off with a squeak as Ritsu dropped the towel on his head.
“Won’t you accept my explanation, Ma~kun?” Ritsu pouted, moving the empty tray off his lap. He sat right beside him now, taking the towel and beginning to wipe down his neck and chest. Mao just made a soft noise and closed his eyes beneath the soothing coolness.
Ritsu had seen Mao shirtless many times. At this point, the scars on his chest were barely even noticeable compared to the first few times he’d seen him drain fluid from them. He gently slid the fabric over the marks. Mao shivered. It took a great deal of willpower for Ritsu to not focus on those spots, so much so that he didn’t register that he had dug his tooth into his lip.
A few quiet moments that felt way too intimate passed, with Ritsu mapping out the planes of his torso. Mao took a still slightly laboured breath, and his eyes opened halfway to gaze up at him.
“Ricchan,” Mao said softly, making Ritsu’s hand pause on his stomach. He blinked and released his lip. Meeting his green eyes, Ritsu swallowed.
It was really unfair. This idiot was here, completely pathetic, ugly from sickness and poor sleep, and yet Ritsu’s overwhelming urge to smother him hadn’t faded a bit. He slumped a little, leaning forward and resting his chin on Mao’s shoulder.
“You’re definitely going to catch this fever, idiot,” Mao murmured, though his arms still wrapped around his back in the firm embrace Ritsu was used to. He might; his resistance to infection could only go so far, but some part of him felt a little thrill at catching it from Mao. Like he was the special one who had spent enough time with him to get sick. His arms loosely rested around his waist, and he pouted.
“You were ignoring me,” Ritsu mumbled, still a little peeved that Subaru had received a warning but he hadn’t. The guy had absolutely forgotten immediately after, too, which made it even more irritating that Ritsu didn’t get the special privilege of knowing Mao wasn’t well.
“Not on purpose,” came the reply. Ritsu nuzzled into the hot skin of Mao’s neck, feeling the tensing from his ticklishness. “Gah, don’t do that…” He didn’t push him away or writhe, though, so Ritsu smiled.
They spent another minute or so in silence, Mao’s hot skin making Ritsu feel even sleepier than he normally would in the comfort of his arms. Mao was slowly running his fingers along his back, which definitely didn’t help.
“Mm, wait…” Mao said, pulling back a little and ignoring Ritsu’s whine of protest. “Did you think I was upset with you? Is that why you did all this?” Caught out, Ritsu avoided eye contact.
“No, I’m just being caring—”
“You don’t do nice things without another motive!” Mao pointed out, his hands squeezing Ritsu’s waist. “And something tells me it's not just about being able to cash it in later.”
“Then you’re thinking too much, Ma~kun,” Ritsu murmured. He tried to press back into their comfortable hug and grumbled when he was held in place. Mao raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re being cruel again, Ma~kun… Uee, uue…” Ritsu sniffled and wiped at his eye.
“You absolutely did think I was ignoring you,” Mao’s lips quirked up, making Ritsu scowl.
“I should have let you suffer,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes. Mao laughed, then cut himself off by wincing. Ritsu had squinted his eyes open to watch him laugh, so his faked indifference was lost as he sat up worriedly.
“Don’t worry,” Mao murmured, moving his fingers to rub his temple. “The headache’s come back, that’s all.” Ritsu pouted. He shifted closer and lifted his hands to press his thumbs along Mao’s hairline, beginning to massage his scalp. Mao let out a long hum of content, his eyes closing. “Mm… You only ever spoil me when I’m sick.”
“I spoil you every day,” Ritsu huffed. He rubbed small circles along the crown of his head. “You just don’t appreciate it.”
“Making me carry you places doesn’t make me the one getting spoiled, Ritsu,” Mao smiled. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Ritsu’s shoulder. There was a silence as Ritsu continued the massage. His firmness eventually just turned into stroking Mao’s hair. “You’re also trying to apologise, aren’t you?” Ritsu blinked at Mao’s murmur.
“Do you think that’s why I’m here now?” Ritsu asked, closing his eyes. He massaged down Mao’s neck, which made him shiver.
“Are you?” he murmured and pressed closer. Ritsu continued the massage quietly, enjoying the way Mao continued to melt into him.
“… It’s nice when you rely on me,” Ritsu said. Mao laughed a little, his arms tightening around his waist. He was fully leaning on him now, and usually Ritsu would be complaining or moping about having to carry him, but this felt way too good to even think about it.
“I’m not mad at you,” Mao murmured, his head tilting so his breath washed over Ritsu’s neck. “I know how you get sometimes.”
“Does that make it okay, though?”
“No,” Mao somehow had the will to smile. “But it just makes it part of being close to you.” Ritsu stroked down Mao’s back. His fingers ghosted over the bumps of his spine. He grit his teeth a little and nuzzled his face so his lips were against Mao’s temple.
“You should give me all of your time, Ma~kun,” Ritsu whispered, shivering slightly as Mao let out a hot rush of a laugh.
“And then what? You’d just keep me forever, right?” Mao joked. His voice was still hoarse. Ritsu felt a little noise in his throat, and he closed his eyes.
“You wouldn’t let me,” he mumbled. Mao pulled back. Ritsu could sense the eyes scanning his face. Mao’s hand slid up to cup his jaw. The action made Ritsu want to snap at him, to beg him to stop giving him any kind of hope, to tell him he was sick and delirious and they should have never hugged in the first place. But he stayed still, almost frozen by the touch as it meandered along the bone.
“You really love me, huh?” Mao murmured. Ritsu bristled a little.
“Of course I love you, you’re my Ma~kun,” he said, pouting. Did Mao really have to ask that after all these years?
“That’s not what I mean,” came Mao’s reply. Ritsu’s eyes opened and met his searing gaze. He swallowed tightly, unsure of what to say.
“Then what do you—”
“Ritsu.”
They stared at each other. Ritsu blinked slowly. He tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, but something in Mao’s shifted, and Ritsu began mourning. He felt a tremor rush through him, years and years of hopes and yearning coming to a halt.
As much as he’d wanted Mao to realise, the thought made panic rise like bile in his throat. He could feel his hands shaking, his stomach churning for the first time in what felt like years. He wanted to take it back, to tell Mao he was hallucinating and somehow manipulate this situation back under his control. Mao finding out was the one thing he never had a solid plan for, and he was so desperately afraid of it.
His face dropped to Mao’s shoulder again, his arms loose by his sides.
“I’m… sorry,” he whispered, voice as hoarse as Mao’s. His mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find anything to say. What could be said? He was in love with his best friend. And had been for the majority of his life. There weren’t enough words to summarise what this — or the possibility of losing it — meant to him.
Mao’s hand shifted from his face to slide into his hair. Ritsu shuddered slightly at the feeling. He tried to savour it as best as he could. Mao was placating him with the gentle strokes of his fingers, taking a long time to think with his wheezing breaths.
“I think… I think I knew,” he finally replied. Ritsu felt a jolt of fear rushing through him. “Some part of me did, anyway.” Ritsu was frozen as he waited for Mao to continue, even the hand in his hair doing nothing to quell the panic within him. When he stayed silent, Ritsu let out a frustrated huff.
“Ma~kun,” he said. Mao had the audacity to laugh. He pulled back to glare at him. Mao’s hands moved to his cheeks, and Ritsu sucked in a breath as he slowly pulled him forward. He didn’t close his eyes, so Ritsu just stared into his when Mao rested their foreheads together.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said, looking down at their laps and the cold towel Ritsu had abandoned on his stomach.
Ritsu could feel the warmth of Mao’s fever beating into his skin, almost scalding as he focused so intently on this moment. Mao’s thumbs stroked his cheeks with the same gentleness he always treated him with.
“I’m not mad at you,” he began. Ritsu would have scoffed at the simple phrase if he hadn’t needed to hear it so badly. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Ritsu repeated, watching as Mao studied his shirt. He sighed.
“I know that you’re special to me,” he murmured. Ritsu looked down at the towel.
“That’s all?”
“And I know that I’d be able to say more if I could think straight,” Mao grimaced. Ritsu was about to be frustrated, but he did look like hell. He took a few moments to bask in the feeling of Mao’s hands on his cheeks before batting at them. “Wh—”
“Ma~kun isn’t even trying to get better,” he mumbled. He pushed him back into his bed and plopped the now-warm towel onto his face, ignoring the splutter it produced. He tugged the blankets up and tucked him in, then pushed them in a perimeter around his whole body to deter movement. Mao laughed at him, pulling the towel off his face to give him a warm smile.
“Thank you, Ricchan,” he said softly. Ritsu responded with an eye roll.
“If you’re really grateful, you should focus on getting better so you can think straight,” he resisted the urge to shove Mao’s face away. “And then we can get onto how you’ll repay me, right~?”
“Of course,” Mao replied with a smile a little bit too fond for the situation. He reached out to tangle their fingers together, pulling him a little closer.
Before Ritsu could ask what he was doing, Mao pressed a kiss to the underside of his wrist. The vulnerable skin tingled from the feeling of his chapped lips. Ritsu froze. He blinked and swallowed tightly. There was no way he could have imagined that, right?
“You’re blushing,” Mao whispered, almost in awe. Ritsu snatched his hand back and turned around. He patted his cheeks; warm as if he had the same skin-burning fever as Mao did. He cleared his throat.
“That isn’t how you repay me,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice stable.
“I know.”
“It’s actually put you more in debt.”
“Maybe. It might have been worth it, though.” Ritsu took back any nice thing he ever thought about sick Mao. Sick Mao was disgusting. A pervert who was cruel to his sweet nurse. A mean thing, fuelled by nothing but a craving to bully his poor, caring friend.
So if Ritsu ended up bedridden in a few days, he knew exactly who to guilt into keeping him company.