Work Text:
Warm, it was so warm.
It was the type of warmth you feel when you lay out in the sun for too long, punishing light reigning down to the point you could feel pulsing behind your eyelids.
It was the type of warmth you feel when you wake up on a hot day, still wrapped up in a soft blanket, sticky skin and sweat pooling.
But it wasn’t the type of warmth Nakamura usually reveled in; that is, it wasn’t the warmth he felt when he was with Hirose.
No, this warmth was grueling, wrapping every appendage and stinging the corners of his eyes, pressure centering behind his brow.
He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm into his legs, to try and ease the aches radiating from his muscles.
Then there was the shaking, gentle at first and then more insistent with consistent pressure.
“Nakamura-kun.”
Ah, it was Hirose’s voice. He always loved the way he said his name, as if he really meant something.
“Nakamura-kun, please wake up. Are you ok?”
Hirose’s voice was sounding louder now, more clear. And that wasn’t the only noise he had begun to hear. Murmurs of classmates that had once sounded sonorous to his sleep-addled mind now rang turbulent and soured.
The pressure on his shoulders began to feel more real, and he realized with a start that the Hirose calling his name was in fact material, and standing right behind him, hands pressing into his shoulders in a valiant effort to wake his friend.
He finally lifts his head, and all he can see is Hirose, face mere centimeters away. Nakamura still doesn’t respond, deciding instead to center his gaze to the small beauty mark resting on Hirose’s skin right underneath his left eye.
As he stared at it like it was the new eighth wonder of the world, Hirose sighed, corners of his mouth drooping with worry.
He raises a single cool hand to press into Nakamura’s forehead, the latter sighing contentedly and leaning forward, as if he was the sole respite to the oppressive warmth he had fallen victim to.
“You’re so hot!” Hirose exclaims, and Nakamura starts, feeling the tips of his ears flush even warmer— if that was even possible— at the indirect meaning to Hirose’s words.
“Nakamura-kun, you must be really sick. Let me take you to the nurse.” Nakamura groaned, beginning to lean his weight forward, already missing the coolness of Hirose’s palm as he extracted it from his forehead.
Following approval from Otogiri-Sensi, and a far-more-enthusiastic-than-necessary: “Leave it to your friendly class health rep!” from Hirose, the two were stumbling down the hall to the nurse’s office.
Although Nakamura could barely keep his head on straight, he couldn’t help but be sardonically pleased by this turn of events. After all, he was practically being held in Hirose’s arms as they headed to their destination, a plush touch wrapping his shoulders with quiet assurance. Although Hirose worked hard to maintain their balance, they were slowly but surely making their way to what was seeming more and more like Nakamura’s deathbed.
It had all started with a small scratch in his throat when he woke up yesterday, the type that typically goes away as cool water slides down your throat to alleviate it. The itch didn’t go away no matter how much water Nakamura fed it, and it only grew and grew, amalgamating into a powerful ache by the end of the night.
He tried his best to ignore it, it was exam season, afterall. And a particularly important one, as Hirose had offered to study with Nakamura together at the library the next day— an opportunity he would move heaven and earth to attend. He could be bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders and still stumble to that library, just to revel in Hirose’s cute pout as he studied, always tapping his eraser against the plush of his bottom lip.
Although this desire was meant to motivate Nakamura, even he had his limits. He was merely mortal after all, and evidently couldn’t hold the weight of the world on his shoulders the way he would have hoped.
He had slogged to school that morning, and presumably had fallen asleep on his desk during the first period, hence his current predicament.
Hirose pokes Nakamura’s cheek, skin tingling where he made contact. Nakamura turns to his friend, shocked by the action.
“We’re here!” Hirose chirps, almost too excited to be exercising his power as class health rep.
He pushes open the door, ushering Nakamura into the room, and calling out a greeting. His greeting falls on empty air, the only sound in the room being the gentle flapping of the curtain in front of the window.
“Looks like she’s not here.” Hirose mutters, extracting his arm from Nakamura’s shoulders. Nakamura misses the support immediately, fighting every embarrassing impulse to grab Hirose again to hold him close.
“I guess not. I should be ok, Hirose-kun, I’m not that sick.” His eyes scan Hirose’s furrowed brow, forehead wrinkled in thought.
“No no, you absolutely need to rest. Why did you even come to school today if you were feeling bad?” He brushes back part of Nakamura’s bangs, gaze almost challenging.
“I wanted to see you.” Nakamura muttered, brain only catching up after he muttered the mortifying words. His head throbs as he fights the urge to chastise himself, gaze glued to the floor. He was terrified to even think of Hirose’s reaction to his words, ones that were a bit too intimate for simple friends (and ones that had just become friends, at that).
Although he’s surprised by the admission, Hirose himself can’t help but smile at Nakamura’s words. He doesn’t really even know what to make of them, or if he even should make anything of them, given they’re fever-laden deluded ramblings.
He shook his head and steeled himself. What was more important was nursing his friend back to health. Hirose gently grabs his arm, nudging Nakamura towards one of the beds in the corner.
“Lie here, ok? I’ll see if I can find anything to help in the meantime before the nurse gets here.” As Nakamura’s back hits the mattress, he realizes again with full force how much his body ached. He simultaneously shivered and felt like he was going to melt. Not wanting Hirose to have to deal with a Nakamura-shaped puddle, he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to feel any ounce better than how he was currently feeling.
He startles upon feeling a wet, coolness drape his forehead, eyes blinking open in shock. Hirose stands over him, moving to sit down on the bed, mattress dipping gently. The wet towel he had draped over Nakamura’s forehead was blissful. He couldn’t help but feel ashamadely good, both from the towel and from Hirose’s attention being solely focused on him.
Without thinking, he does what his brain had been screaming at him to do this entire time, and he grabs Hirose’s free hand, lacing their fingers together.
Hirose gasps, snapping his head to the side for a moment, expression laced with what appeared to be pure confusion and shock. Before he could even open his mouth to ask why he grabbed his hand, he turned back, realizing his friend's breathing had softly evened out, eyes closed in a restless slumber.
He fiddled his fingers between Nakamura’s, but didn’t yet pull away. Why had Nakamura grabbed his hand, and why would he come to school when he was practically almost six feet under with a fever?
He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, feelings swimming in circles. His cyclical inner dialogue was interrupted by a simple stirring of Nakamura, fingers squeezing Hirose’s hands even tighter.
Hirose feels the tips of his fingers tingle. He hadn’t really held hands like this with anyone before, but he was starting to see the appeal. The warmth— albeit more warm than usual— grounded him, and he focused again on his sick friend.
That’s right, no need to worry about what he meant or anything. What’s more important is that he’s finally resting.
He startles at the creak of the door, the school nurse finally entering the office. It had been so long Hirose was almost beginning to suspect the woman was more myth than reality.
“Are you boys ok?” She gently asks, gesturing to Nakamura’s corpse-like position supine across the bed.
“He’s really sick, and I’m pretty sure he has a fever. I put a cold compress on his head, but it seems to have warmed up a bit by now.” Hirose began, peeling the wet towel from his friend’s forehead and flipping it over again to the cool side.
The nurse brushes past Hirose, leaning gently to shake Nakamura awake. Nakamura doesn’t startle this time, and greets the nurse with surprising lucidity.
She goes through a couple semi-complicated procedures to get Nakamura’s vitals, finally leaning over to take his heart rate.
“Hmm, quite fast.” She mutters, seemingly speaking to herself. “Not uncommon with fever.”
Hirose squeezes Nakamura’s hand again, realizing their fingers are still laced.
“Oh, wow that’s really fast. Sounds almost like your heart skipped a beat.” She smiles at Nakamura, who pinks in response.
With Nakamura’s temperature also reading shockingly high— a couple more degrees and you could almost fry an egg on his forehead — the nurse mutters something about intravenous liquids, shuffling about the room to hook Nakamura up to a saline IV.
Reading the complicated-sounding name on the bag that his friend’s hooked up to, Hirose can’t help but feel guilty Nakamura came to school at all.
He said he came to see me, but why?
Nakamura reclined again, watching as the nurse fluttered away to help another patient with a bloody nose.
Now that they were alone, Hirose began to study his counterpart’s face, noticing the bright flush of his cheeks. He has the intrusive thought to impress his finger upon the pigmentation, and watch as it turns to white, and back to red again.
He shakes his head at the ridiculous thought, realizing again for the umpteenth time that, yes, they were still holding hands, and yes, he didn’t really feel the need to let go yet.
Nakamura’s breathing had long evened out, and Hirose wondered the timeline that it was appropriate to keep sitting here, watching over his friend. Although he felt guilty to leave Nakamura— especially given that he had inexplicably claimed the only reason he was there at all was to see Hirose— he knew his time was running to a close. With a personal vow to check on his friend later, he extracts his fingers delicately from the lock they had on Nakamura’s own.
Still leaning close to his face, he scans it one last time, wondering idly if he was still burning up as much as earlier. His gaze finds his forehead, mesmerized by the flush that had made its ascent almost past his hairline.
Before he can stop himself, he finds the urge to lean over, and experience the warmth himself. He inclines towards his forehead, head clouding with the smell of Nakamura’s shampoo, and decisively presses his lips into the warmth of his brow bone.
He pulls away immediately as Nakamura stirs, standing and exiting the room with a curt goodbye to the nurse.
Why on earth had he done that?
Hirose huffs as he kicks a rock in his path, watching it bounce a couple meters before spinning to a halt.
He had hardly gotten any sleep, worrying about his friend. More specifically, he worried he was reading too far into what were likely his feverish ramblings.
But what really kept him from sleeping was the tingling in his fingertips from where they had been interlaced with Nakamura’s own, and, most of all, the tingling in his lips from where he pressed them to his forehead.
Hirose had always been known to act on impulse, but he really struggled to rationalize just why he had done that. He knew he cared for his friend and enjoyed his company, but could his action be construed as “going too far?”
He digs his toe into a patch of dirt, watching the resulting puff dissipate into the air and settle once again.
I was just checking his temperature. He told himself, ad-nauseum. My mom used to do that when I was little, right? Check my temperature with her lips?
No matter how much he repeated the rationalization, he knew it didn’t sound right. He did what he did because he just wanted to, and for no other reason.
Shaking his head at the cyclic onslaught of thoughts that came from that particular realization, Hirose tried to refocus on his goal.
He was clutching a folder, the contents of which included Nakamura’s homework and class materials for the day. Otogiri-Sensei had kindly requested (demanded) that someone should bring Nakamura his notes, and Hirose was quick to offer his assistance.
Finally reaching his destination, he falters before ringing the doorbell. Should he have called before just randomly showing up?
He hears a harsh cough coming from inside, and steels himself, rapping his fist against the hard oak of Nakamura’s front door.
The doorknob lazily turned with a click, Nakamura sticking his head out.
“Hirose-kun? What brings you—” He’s cut off by a violent string of coughs, and steps away from the door.
Hirose furrows his brow, resolving that he needed to help Nakamura. He pats him soundly on the back, promising to get him some water. After slipping off his shoes and a quick exploration of his friend’s kitchen, he returns with a glass of water, urging the still shaking Nakamura to wrap his hands around it and drink.
With a quick glance around to take in his surroundings, Hirose figures the couch would be the path of least resistance, wrapping his arm again around his friend to lead him there.
The tingling returns in full force to every inch of skin in contact with Nakamura, but he forces himself to ignore it as the two plop down. He presses his hand to Nakamura’s forehead yet again, the ladder leaning unashamedly into the touch.
“You’re still very sick, aren’t you?” Nakamura nods, turning to cough into his hand.
“Yes, sorry for all this. I don’t want to take any time away from your exams or anything.” Nakamura worries, hands toying with the frayed edges of his oversized sleep shirt.
“Nonsense, I care more about you being ok.” Hirose nods with finality, urging Nakamura to drink more from his glass. The room is completely silent aside from the sound of his friend gulping down the liquid appreciatively, and a loud clock clicking in the corner.
“Is your family home?” Hirose asks, regarding the hush of the room.
“Ah no, during the day my parents are at work, and my sister’s still at prep school. Just me today.” Nakamura’s small smile is pained, and he leans back onto the couch, sighing and lazily moving his gaze to Hirose.
“Oh! Speaking of school… I almost forgot.” Hirose moves to pull out Nakamura’s school papers from his bag, passing the stack over. He thanks him, flipping through the pages to study what he missed.
As he busies himself with the papers, Hirose again finds himself distracted by the thoughts that had been plaguing him all night. He suddenly feels shy, conscious of Nakamura, gaze tracing his long lashes and the profile of his nose. He fidgets at the feeling, moving to stand up.
“Well, I should get going then. I hope you feel better—” he’s stopped by an insistent hand grabbing his own, just as quickly retracted with a small apology muttered under Nakamura’s breath.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I wanted to ask you a couple questions about what we did in class today. If you’re able to stay a bit longer?” Hirose’s resolve breaks as soon as he hears Nakamura’s rise in intonation at the end of his sentence, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
He quickly relents, cementing himself beside his friend.
The talk of homework was quickly abandoned, the two instead going on endless tangents about manga they’ve read and shows they’ve watched.
It’s about half an hour in when Nakamura puts on a movie they both claim to be “one of the greats”, and about another half hour before he’s leaned over the couch, only semi-lucid and nearly fully asleep.
His hand is resting between the two of them, almost as a silent ask. Hirose’s fingertips prod at his knuckles, too nervous to initiate contact as they had the day before, but inexplicably craving it nonetheless.
Nakamura jostles, falling a bit forward with a huff in his near-sleep state. Hirose’s hands quickly shoot out to steady his friend, leaning him back towards the couch. Nakamura’s trajectory, however, seemed to have a mind of its own, head descending ungracefully into Hirose’s lap as he cascades onto the couch.
“Ah! Nakamura-kun” Hirose startles, his heart jumping in his chest.
“Is this ok?” Nakamura mutters, voice muffled by the fabric of Hirose’s school pants. His eyes flick up to meet Hirose’s own, and to which he simply nods, not trusting his own voice.
Hirose’s hands are still hovering in the air, unsure of the appropriate place to put them. His gaze glues itself to the puff of Nakamura’s hair, and he fights the intrusive thoughts to run his fingers through it, to feel the soft texture.
“Comfy?” Hirose laughs, as Nakamura hums and snuggles further into his leg, cheek brushing the fabric of his pants. Nakamura suddenly stills, and Hirose leans over to meet his gaze in question. He miscalculates a bit, and the two are almost so close that he worries his friend will hear the rapid beating of his heart.
Nakamura drones something incomprehensible in his half-asleep state. Hirose pokes his cheek, and leans closer to hear it.
“I like you Hirose-kun.”
Hirose pales at the admission, blood rushing in his ears. He fights to stay quiet, sensing Nakamura has more to say.
“I’ve liked you since I first met you. You’re sooooo cute and kind, and I feel so warm when I’m around you. Well, not this warm, I just still have a fever, haha” Nakamura giggles at his own joke, humming under his breath.
“I want to hug you and hold your hand, and call you mine.” He stretches his arms out to grasp Hirose’s torso, the boy startling at the firm grip.
“Ah, if only I could do this with the real Hirose.” He continues his delirious giggling, and snuggles into Hirose’s chest, seemingly content with the finality of his statement.
Hirose himself is frozen.
What in the world?!? Was that a… confession? But why me? Nakamura likes me?
He bites his cheeks, watching Nakamura’s serene expression as he rests on his chest. His touch feels warmer than any blanket, and despite his heart racing at an uncomfortable pace, he can’t help but feel calmed by his friend’s presence.
Nakamura was different from the rest of his friends, that much was true. But he had feelings for him?
He realized he was brushing the tips of his fingers through Nakamura’s hair, detangling the microknots that impeded his rhythmic path.
Regardless if he likes me, do I like Nakamura-kun?
Hirose can’t fight the impulse this time, indenting the tip of his finger into Nakamura’s cheek, watching the flush momentarily turn pale, only to fade back to red.
I do think he’s quite cute. And I feel really good when I’m around him. And I did… kiss him yesterday, didn’t I?
What he thought was a friendly gesture was now the forefront of his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine doing the same for Matsamura, god forbid Takeuchi, or even Oomori. No, he only had these impulses with Nakamura.
Does this mean… Do I like him?
Hirose blushes, pressing a hand over his face. He almost felt feverish at the realization.
Nakamura smiles serenely into his chest, oblivious to Hirose’s internal commotion.
Hirose stumbles down the final couple steps as he makes his way to the rapping at his front door, pausing to grab a face mask from where it was hanging in the foyer.
“Hello?” He rasps, opening the door just a crack. He starts upon seeing Nakamura’s sheepish grin, holding out a file of papers not dissimilar to the ones he had delivered himself days ago.
“For you, Hirose-kun. Sorry again for getting you sick.” He bows slightly, and Hirose just laughs.
“Well, you know what they say, the best way to get rid of a cold is to pass it on to someone else.” He nods, chest tight and cheeks warm as he waits for Nakamura’s reaction.
“Good thing I’m immune now then.” Nakamura smirks, playfully tilting his head towards Hirose.
“Yes, good thing you’re immune. Because I wanted to do this.”
Hirose digs up all the impulses from his fever-addled daydreams since realizing his crush, grabbing Nakamura’s hands and pulling him forward. The two are chest to chest now, and Hirose giggles at the light feeling in his stomach.
He grips Nakamura’s face, pressing their lips together through the fabric of the mask. Nakamura gasps, and kisses Hirose back, contact just as firm.
When Nakamura pulls away, he laughs, and it's warm.