Work Text:
Daiki had woken up with a cough.
A haphazard, uneeded, cough.
Daiki was currently sitting slumped on the couch, the grey cushions surrounding his small form as he stared aimlessly at the apartment wall; his usually sharp, as ataushi would say, 'cat-like' eyes were clouded with an unusual dullness.
A soft, persistent sound escaped him, the one he loathed as of now. The same tickling he had been trying to will away for the past 5 minutes made itself aware again, barely muffled hastily into the sleeve of his hoodie.
Daiki's face was flushed, beads of sweat gathering at his temples despite the lingering chill in the room.
"I'm fine," he muttered to himself, voice nasally. Daiki pushed one of his hands out, unravelling it from his hoodie, and pressed his fingertips to his temples, as if sheer willpower could dispel the annoying headache and the heaviness in his chest.
Daiki hated feeling weak. Hated feeling vulnerable. Hated the way his body felt like a burden he had to drag around instead of something that should just be obeying him.
The thought of Atsushi worrying about him made his stomach twist tighter than the fever already had. God, Atsushi really was a mother hen; always hovering, fussing, needlessly watching him like he might break if left alone for too long.
The idea annoyed Daiki to no end, just the very notion of it sparked something sharp and defensive in his chest. Whatever this stupid plague was that had cursed him, he would get rid of it on his own. He always did.
Unbeknownst to him, the very person he was trying not to worry about was bustling around the small, shared kitchen just down the hall.
Atsushi hummed faintly to himself as he fumbled with a loaf of bread, spreading butter unevenly across a slice.
Despite Daiki’s attempts to muffle the sound, Atsushi always seemed to faintly catch it—a faint, irregular cough drifting in from the living room.
He froze.
His brow furrowed slightly as a familiar, instinctive unease prickled deep in his chest. It wasn’t like Daiki to be this quiet. Normally, there would be snide remarks by now, complaints about the morning, some stupid and childish sarcastic jab thrown his way that he would entertain for no reason other than habit.
The silence felt off; wrong.
Setting the half-buttered toast aside, Atsushi wiped his hands on his pants and walked toward the living room. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, forcing himself to look relaxed despite the concern tightening in his gut.
“You okay, Daiki?” he asked, voice light, laced with gentle sarcasm. “You’re… uh… being pretty quiet over here.”
His eyes betrayed him, though. They scanned Daiki’s slumped form, taking in the flushed skin, the faint sheen of sweat, the way his auburn bangs stuck damply to his forehead.
Daiki forced a grin, sharp and deflective, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Blegh. And why do you care?” he shot back weakly. “I just didn’t sleep well last night, th—”
He didn’t get to finish.
A sudden coughing fit ripped through him, harsher than the ones before. Daiki doubled over, breath hitching almost painfully as he tried to inhale between coughs. His hand shook as he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. The glass tipped, water sloshing over the rim and spilling onto the table and floor.
Atsushi was beside him in an instant, as he always was.
He knelt down, one hand steadying Daiki while the other pressed against his forehead, forcing his head up gently but firmly. The heat radiating from Daiki’s skin made Atsushi’s eyes widen.
“You’re burning up, you dolt,” he muttered, the edge in his voice melting into worry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Daiki turned his face away, jaw tight.
Atsushi exhaled sharply, not out of frustration, no, never with Daiki, but tinged with sadness. He leaned beside Daiki, gently grasping his hand, feeling it quiver. "Daiki, hey. You're never burdening me, okay?"
Daiki didn't respond, and that was okay, he didn't have to.
Daiki let his body lean slightly more into Atsushi’s steadier one.
“Let me take care of you, just for today,” Atsushi murmured, his thumb brushing gently over Daiki’s knuckles. “Alright?”
Daiki hiccuped quietly, then nodded.
Atsushi carefully helped Daiki to his feet, the heat radiating from his partner seeping through the thin fabric of his hoodie.
Daiki leaned into him more than usual, his weight unsettlingly fragile. Atsushi’s heart clenched. He truthfully despised seeing Daiki like this—hated the vulnerability etched into the lines of his face, the way he just seemed to... deflate. Atsushi didn't mind taking care of him of course, he always did, he never minded it, because Daiki would always get better, and that was the good part about doing it.
Settling Daiki onto the soft, cushioned, bed (not just a blanket on the floor, his brain unhelpfully provided, and then blanched for a quick second.) Atsushi tucked the blankets around him, his fingers lingering for a brief second as he brushed clammy bangs from Daiki’s forehead.
Jesus, He’s really burning up, Atsushi thought, his worry coiling tighter, breaking his composure like a thorned vine around his heart.
“Just rest, alright? I’ll be back soon," he whispered, his voice softer than he intended.
In the kitchen, Atsushi practically moved on autopilot, his hands mechanically and methodically chopping vegetables, pouring broth, and stirring the simmering pot.
But his mind remained tethered to Daiki, it was a bad habit he had while cooking even just for himself. Every cough from the bedroom was a sharp tug at his heart, a reminder that Daiki was suffering—and Atsushi couldn't simply make it go away.
Why didn’t he tell me sooner? The question echoed in his mind. Atsushi knew the answer, of course. Daiki’s pride was as stubborn as the man himself. But it didn’t make it any easier to accept. Atsushi wanted to be the exception to Daiki’s walls, the person he could lean on without hesitation; The thought of it made something pressurized bubble up in his chest, mixed with such guilt it made him want to puke.
Atsushi wanted to be the one who Daiki clung to (he already was), he wanted Daiki to tell him everything (he already did) was that so bad?
The sound of an alarm going off on his phone brought him out of his thoughts, jolting him up and pausing it, quickly pouring the soup into a bowl, and taking anti-nausea pills in hand.
Atsushi eventually did return to Daiki’s bedside as he promised. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched Daiki’s face—flushed, weary, yet still trying to mask his discomfort behind a thin and easily breakable veil of indifference.
“Hey, Daiki, I’ve got some soup and medicine for you,” Atsushi said, keeping his tone light despite the heaviness in his chest.
Daiki hesitated, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with the simple act of accepting help.
Atsushi didn’t push, just waited.
When Daiki finally took the pills and allowed Atsushi to feed him spoonfuls of warm broth, Atsushi felt a mix of relief and heartache.
The same pressure in the kitchen was back, it settled and nestled and gnawed at his heart, his very core of being. It made something grotesque want to laugh within him.
He wanted to protect Daiki from everything—from illness, from pain, from his father.
“You’re not a burden,” Atsushi whispered, his fingers gently threading through Daiki’s sweat-damp hair.
Daiki didn’t respond with words, but the way he leaned into Atsushi’s touch, the small sigh that escaped him, spoke more words than Daiki needed to.
Atsushi didn't leave when Daiki fell limp in his arms, eyes soft and closed, mouth agape and slightly snoring.
The room grew quieter, save for the sounds of Daiki’s soft, raspy intakes of air.
Atsushi stayed by his side, his hand never straying far from Daiki’s. His thumb gently traced idle patterns against Daiki’s knuckles, a repetition he became accustomed to for the next few minutes.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled Atsushi under; it was bound to happen.
His head lolled back, resting gently on the edge of the mattress, his warm cheek pressing against the cool fabric near Daiki’s hand. His legs stretched out on the wooden floor, the faint chill seeping through his jeans, but he didn’t care. His worries remained tethered to the steady rise and fall of Daiki’s chest.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
The sounds of birds chirping outside made Daiki stir slightly, his fevered haze parting just enough to register the warmth against his hand.
His fingers twitched, brushing against Atsushi’s messy pink hair, slightly damp from sweat—whether his own or Atsushi’s, he couldn’t tell, didn't care that much either.
Blinking heavy-lidded eyes, he glimpsed the faint outlines of Atsushi’s sleeping face.
“Idiot..." Daiki rasped softly, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with affection masked under irritation. His hand found the courage to rest against Atsushi’s hair fully, fingers threading weakly through the soft cotton candy coloured strands.
Atsushi stirred at the faint touch, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep. He blinked up at Daiki, disoriented for a heartbeat but quickly softening into a small, tired smile that Daiki had become accustomed to,
“Hey,” Atsushi breathed, his voice rough from sleep but threaded with warmth. “Mmnh... sorry, you feeling better?”
Daiki huffed, a weak, breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh if he had the strength.
“You're an idiot,” he muttered again, but his fingers didn’t let go, didn't unclench.
Atsushi smiled wider, shifting slightly to sit up, but Daiki’s weak grip protested.
“Stay,” Daiki whispered. Please, stay by my side until I start to disgust you.
Atsushi nodded, moving to sit more comfortably on the floor, his head resting back beside Daiki’s hand, their fingers intertwined.
“'m not going anywhere,” Atsushi murmured, closing his eyes again, their breaths syncing in the quiet room.
Maybe it was okay for both of them to be greedy this time.