Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first sign something’s wrong is that Akaashi doesn’t nag him about the dishes.

The second sign is that he doesn’t even look up from the couch when Bokuto comes home yelling, “Keiji! I brought you a seasonal donut! It’s shaped like a frog!”

Bokuto freezes in the doorway, one shoe still on. “…Keiji?”

A low groan is his only reply, followed by a muffled cough into the sleeve of one of Bokuto’s sweatshirts.

Bokuto’s eyes go wide. The donut slips from his hand. He nearly trips over the cat.

“Oh my god.”

He’s at the couch in a flash, kneeling beside Akaashi with one hand on the blanket like he’s expecting to find blood.

“Keiji. Are you dying? Don’t lie. Blink once for yes.”

“I’m congested, not cursed,” Akaashi rasps.

“You’re sick?! Why didn’t you call me?! I would’ve left practice early. I would’ve run home. I would’ve flown home if I had to.”

Akaashi sighs, already exhausted. “I didn’t want you to panic.”

“I never panic,” Bokuto says, while very clearly panicking. “Okay. Wait. I got this. Stay right there.”

Akaashi gives him a look that says, where else would I go.

“Never mind! Don’t move!” Bokuto yells again, then bolts out of the room.

A pause. Then a loud crash.

“…I’m okay!”

Akaashi groans and presses the heel of his palm into his forehead.

Bokuto returns seconds later, breathless and wild-haired, arms full.

“Okay. Tea. Honey. Lemon. Tissues… wait, I couldn’t find tissues, so I brought this,” he says, holding up a full roll of toilet paper. “Also two lollipops. And—” he slaps a small green sticker onto Akaashi’s chest “—joy frog.”

Akaashi stares. “You brought me toilet paper.”

“It’s multi-purpose,” Bokuto declares. “Emergency tissue. Emergency napkin. Emergency bandage. I’m so prepared, Keiji.”

“Prepared to start a fire,” Akaashi mutters, eyeing the candle wobbling dangerously in his other hand.

Bokuto ignores him. He sets the tea down, plops onto the coffee table, and holds up a forehead thermometer like a weapon.

“Let me beep you.”

“Bo—”

“Shh. Let it beep.”

He presses it against Akaashi’s temple with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It beeps. Bokuto yelps.

“Keiji, you’re warm. Too warm. Like a nice toaster. A broken toaster.”

“It’s a mild fever.”

“You’re glowing with heat. Should I… should I put you in the fridge? Is that what people do?”

“I want you to sit down.”

“I can’t. I’m in protective husband mode,” he cries, already bolting back to the kitchen. “I need to make soup.”

Akaashi groans again. “God help me.”

From the kitchen: “Does ginger cure everything or just most things?!”

A few cupboard doors slam. Then—

“Where’s the thing that goes beep?!”

“You already used it!”

“I need more beep!”

Bokuto returns moments later with a heat pack, a cold pack, an unopened packet of seaweed, and a fresh cup of tea.

“Seaweed?” Akaashi croaks.

“For your brain. And soul. Or digestion. Honestly, I blacked out a little.”

“Bokuto.”

“I lit the candle for vibes. Do you feel the vibes? They’re lavender.”

“You nearly set the tea on fire.”

“But I didn’t,” Bokuto says proudly, just before knocking the tea over with his elbow. “Okay. It’s fine. No one panic. I’ll make more. Do you want it cold this time? For your fever? Like a tea popsicle?”

Akaashi slumps further under the blanket. “I want you to sit down.”

Bokuto, finally, does.

Sort of.

He perches on the edge of the couch, hands twitching, watching Akaashi like he might combust at any moment. Every cough makes him flinch. Every sigh makes him hover.

“…Are you okay?” he asks after a while, voice suddenly soft.

Akaashi turns his head, looking at him through sleep-heavy eyes. “…I’m okay.”

“You’re doing so good,” Bokuto murmurs, pressing his forehead gently against Akaashi’s shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

Akaashi hums faintly.

“…Do you want me to play you a lullaby?”

“I want you to stop vibrating.”

“I’m not vibrating!”

“You are, Bokuto. I can see it.”

Eventually, Bokuto settles. Sort of. He curls into the other side of the couch, watching Akaashi like a baby bird imprinting on its first tree. Every sneeze earns a gasp. Every sigh gets a soft, “Keiji? Are you okay? Blink once for yes.”

Akaashi finally groans, pulls him close, and leans his cheek against wild grey hair. “You’re perfect.”

Bokuto sniffles. Akaashi eyes him sideways. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Bokuto says wetly. “You’re just really brave and I love you.”

Akaashi sighs, but he’s smiling now. “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto breathes, curling closer. “But I’m your menace.”