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1.
The first time Ryouhei gets sick after his mom's diagnosis, he's eight. He wakes up in the dead of night shivering from head to toe beneath his blanket. No matter how tightly he curls into himself, the cold prevails. Eating its way through his skin and down to his bones until even his teeth chatter. “Mom?” It's hard to talk. His throat scratches with every swallow, like the inside has been rubbed down with sandpaper.
She's been sleeping heavier since she got sick. She probably can't hear me. Before, his mom had always seemed to know what he needed before he needed it. Pushed him to nap before he got cranky. Pushed him to eat before his stomach started growling. Pushed him to take medicine before he'd even realized his nose was running. Now, she spent a lot of time in bed, and Ryouhei's dad spent his time between taking care of her and taking care of Hajime.
His mom was sick, so she probably just didn't feel good enough to look out for him like that. It was okay. Ryouhei was bigger now, and he could just tell her he was sick. Then she'd know to make him feel better. She could make him soup and put a cool washcloth over his head and sing to him like she always does when he doesn't feel good. He just has to use his words, like Dad was always telling him to.
Getting up is harder than he expects it to be. Uncurling causes the cold to come back with a vengeance—he can feel it in his chest, like ice. His arms shake beneath him when he tries to push himself up, unable to hold his weight. The second time he falls backwards, his eyes start watering. I'm not a crybaby. Dad is always complaining that he's too weak and emotional. That he'll never get anywhere if he keeps crying at the drop of a hat.
He blinks rapidly against the tears and forces himself to try again, rocking up instead of using his arms. He feels a little out of breath, but it works. Mom and Dad will be proud of me. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stands up, surprised when his vision starts to swim. Holding his breath, he steadies himself against the nightstand and tries to wait it out. Eventually, the weird, falling feeling goes away.
It's hard to see in the dark. Moonlight creeps in through his blinds, but his nightlight stopped working a couple weeks ago. His dad has been too busy to replace it. He keeps stumbling over toys he forgot to pick up and having to catch himself. At least the pain in his knees and palms distracts from the cold.
Hajime's nursery is the room next to his. It's closer to their parents’ room since he's younger and needs more attention. A soft light is peeking out from under the door, and Ryouhei figures their dad is in there reading Hajime back to sleep. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night crying because he's hungry or his diaper needs to be changed again. It's been happening more since their mom got sick.
Ryouhei ended up crying once because he had a nightmare and wet the bed, but Dad wasn't as nice about it. He's too big to be crying like that or to be having accidents. Hajime is little, so he gets away with it. Ryouhei guesses that makes sense. Hajime is too young to ask for things like a big kid, so he gets to cry. Ryouhei is the older brother, so he has to know better and be a good example.
He sneaks past the room as best he can, one hand against the wall to keep his balance. In the quiet, the sound of his chattering teeth seems to echo, grating against his ears. Part of him hopes his mom will just let him sleep with her, the way he used to when he was really little. He doesn't think he'd be so cold then.
The door to his parents’ room creaks when he pushes it open, and he can just make out his mom curled beneath the blankets. There's a big metal pole sitting next to her nightstand with a clear bag hanging from it. When he'd asked, she'd said it was to make her feel better. Seeing the tubes on her hand and face was kind of scary, but she always promised that they made her less sick. Ryouhei tries not to let it show that they bother him.
”Mom?” Hand hovering over her, he hesitates. There are dark circles beneath her eyes and a pale gauntness to her face. She always looks so tired now. Sometimes she'll fall asleep in the middle of their conversation with her eyes open. He hates when she does that. “...Mom?”
The door creaks, and Ryouhei freezes, stuttery lungs suddenly stone. He listens as footsteps approach, reaching a shaky hand up to try and halt the clicking of his jaw. Maybe, if he's still enough, his dad won't notice. Then he can't get mad.
His dad stares at him through the gloom. In the dark, his eyes look beady and black, his silhouette long and imposing. “Ryouhei. What are you doing?”
“I--” He licks his lips, looking down at his feet. He doesn't know why, but he feels like he's done something wrong. “I don't feel good. You were looking after Hajime so—”
“So you decided to bother your sick mother instead?” A hand beckons him, movements sharp. “Come here. How stupid can you be? If you get her sick, she'll get worse!”
Oh. He hadn't thought about that. Stumbling away from the bed, he follows his dad back into the hallway. When the bedroom door clicks shut, he shifts from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. His dad has never looked after him while he was sick before. He was always working or looking after Hajime. “Will you... make me some soup?” Did his dad even know how to do that?
“At one in the morning?”
“Uh—”
With a long sigh, his dad rubs a tired hand over his face. Guilt bubbles deep within Ryouhei's stomach. His mom is sick, and his dad is tired trying to look after everyone. Ryouhei shouldn't have bothered either of them. He was just making things harder. “Follow me.”
His dad leads him to the bathroom, shutting the door behind them and flicking the light on. The brightness makes the thudding in his head worse, but Ryouhei doesn't complain. He watches as his dad taps a little red circle into his palm. Then as he fills up one of the little paper cups they use for mouthwash with water. Taking them when they're handed to him. There's silence for a minute, and then his dad scowls, “Well?”
“I can't...” Ryouhei frowns, eyeing the circle. “Mom usually crushes it up for me.” He'd tried swallowing it once, but it'd made him gag.
”You're eight years old, Ryouhei. When are you going to stop acting like such a baby?” His dad brushes past him to get to the door. “I've had a long night, and I have to work tomorrow. I don't have time to coddle you. Either swallow it or don't. A cold won't kill you.” Then he's gone.
Looking down at the little circle, Ryouhei feels his eyes sting. A sob begins to work its way up his throat, but he swallows until the urge lessens. His parents took these without a problem all the time. He was old enough now to do it too.
He drops the circle into the little cup, hoping it'll be easier if it's in the water. Tilting his head back, he swallows, coughing a little when he feels the pill hit his throat. For a second he feels like he can't breathe, shivering muscles tensing as he feels the circle slide down. Then it passes, and he coughs a little more, chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. It's fine; I did it. Dad was right.
He fills the cup with water again and drinks it, trying to get rid of the dry taste in his mouth. The medicine always takes a little while to work. Usually his mom would encourage him to try and sleep until it kicked in. Singing to him or reading him a story to help distract from the aching.
For a second, he's angry at her. Angry that she'd gotten sick and angry that she can't take care of him anymore. Angry that she had Hajime, who takes up all of Dad's time.
Then he's just sad. It's not Mom's fault she's sick, and it's not her fault he's too old to be taken care of anymore. That was just a part of growing up.
He tosses the cup into the trash and flicks the light, stumbling back into his room and falling into his bed. The cold is still terrible, but he's tired enough now that it hardly matters. Ryouhei drifts off in minutes, all on his own.
2.
Ryouhei wakes up shivering. His head is throbbing, and despite going to bed early for once, he feels more exhausted than ever. He knows, instantly, that he's sick. Again.
His body feels like a heavy stone. Muscles all tensed and coiled inward to try and defend against the cold. He always gets fevers in the summer—has without fail since he was eight. His constitution stat is garbage.
The one nice part of being unemployed is that no one expects him to be out of bed before noon. No job to force him to push himself too hard. No reason to do anything but sleep off the headache and hope the fever passes quickly.
He dozes for a little, in that weird half-asleep, half-awake space. Mind drifting as he ponders whether he'll get out of bed at some point or not and, if so, which game he'll try to beat today. He might be too tired for his usual favorites, with all their puzzles. Maybe a shooter? If I keep the sound off…
“Ryouhei.” His dad's voice is a thunderclap, loud and sudden. There's some distance to it, like he was yelling from across the house. His dad wasn't the yelling sort. “Come out here.”
Filled with a sense of deep, suffocating foreboding, Ryouhei struggles his way into sitting up. It was easier to power through the shaky limbs and lung-shaking cold now than it had been when he was younger. Though standing still gives him a dizzying headrush that makes the throbbing behind his eyes pulse dangerously.
“Ryouhei!”
“I'm coming!” His voice rings in his head like a gong. At least I don't have a sore throat this time. A headache over a sore throat? That was a trade he'd take. Headaches actually responded to ibuprofen.
Stumbling out of his room and using a hand against the wall to steady himself, Ryouhei made his way out to the main area. His dad was sitting at the dining table, looking over a notepad. Hajime was curled up on the couch, hair mussed and eyes glazed over. Isn't he supposed to be at school? Maybe he had a day off. Maybe it wasn't even a weekday. Ryouhei never really kept track anymore. Outside of knowing when his game tournaments were, time didn't really matter to him.
He slumps down into one of the dining chairs. Giving into the urge to close his eyes against the pulsing light of the kitchen fluorescents. “What?”
“You need to learn some damn respect.” His dad grumbles, more out of habit than real reprimand. He gave up on Ryouhei a long time ago. “Your brother is sick. We're out of medicine and good food. Without it he won't get better, and he'll miss too much school. Then he'll end up like you.” A slacker, he meant. Someone who fell further and further behind until there just wasn't a point in trying anymore. “I want you to go to the store and get a couple of things.”
“Why can't you do it?”
”Your brother needs someone to look after him." Eyeing Ryouhei, his dad ripped the paper from the notepad and slid it across the table. “I doubt you could handle the responsibility. This is clearly already asking a lot of you.”
It was like being doused in ice water. Being stabbed would hurt less, he thinks, than being told he can't even be trusted to look after his brother. Sure, Ryouhei doesn't want to look after Hajime, but he'd do it if he was asked. Ryouhei had been looking after himself for years; he knew how to take care of a sick person.
More than the hurt, though, was the suffocating envy. So syrupy and thick in his lungs that he felt like he was choking on it. The most his dad had ever done for him when he was sick was buy him ginger ale and painkillers. Half the time he'd decided Ryouhei wasn't “sick enough” and forced him to go to school. Ryouhei had thought it practical, even if it stung. Something that just came with getting older. Another reason why being an adult was completely overrated. But now his dad was actually staying home to look after Hajime. Had put ingredients for soup on the list...
Why? The part of him that wanted to ask felt small and young. A piece of himself that he'd tried and failed to bury. Why am I not worth looking after? What did I do wrong?
Taking the list and shoving it in his pocket, Ryouhei pushes himself to his feet. “I don't have any money.”
Glowering, his dad hands him his card. “You would if you had a job.”
The air was cool when he stepped outside, ice against his already freezing skin. It would be easier if he was wearing a jacket or at least pants instead of shorts, but he didn't feel like going back inside. He wanted to put as much distance between the house and him as possible. At least until his stomach stopped tying itself into venomous knots.
At least he'd fallen asleep with his phone in his pocket. Tugging it out on instinct, he eyed the battery. Half-charged. Not bad. He pulled open his group chat with Karube and Chota, worrying his lip. He didn't want them to worry—and he knew they would if they saw him. Karube especially was a total mother hen if you gave him the opportunity.
At the same time, he didn't want to be alone. He felt shaky and fragile. An overfilled balloon waiting to burst. Maybe Karube and Chota could help hold him together just a little longer.
alicestheorem: You guys want to help me out with an errand?
Chota ends up being too busy, but Karube offers to take his lunch break a little early. On the surface Karube is rough around the edges, but he might be the most reliable person Ryouhei knows. There's something comforting in the knowledge that he has someone who would drop everything if he asked them to. Someone who cares about him that much. Sometimes, Ryouhei thinks Karube is the kind of older brother he should be to Hajime.
As predicted, the minute they meet up outside the corner store, Karube is fussing. Dark brows pulling together as he aggressively presses the back of his palm against Ryouhei's forehead and cheeks. “Are you sick? Why the hell are you walking around if you're sick?”
Swatting him away, Ryouhei snags one of the baskets at the front of the store. “It's not that bad.” His head was killing him, and the air conditioning in the store was biting, but it could be worse. He could be congested. “Hajime is sick too. My dad told me to go get him some medicine and food.”
“Didn't you say the last time you got sick your dad handed you an ibuprofen and a ginger ale and told you to 'work through it like a real man?' I remember because that's when Chota told us he was allergic to ibuprofen."
“I still can't believe that.” Ryouhei decides to grab two large bottles of painkillers. He'll give one to his dad for the main bathroom, and then he'll keep the other for himself. He's the one who's going to end up needing it the most anyway. “Who's allergic to painkillers?”
“He can still take Tylenol. Not everyone pops ibuprofen like Skittles the way you do.” Karube gives him a noogie, gentler about it than he normally is. In the process he tries to reach down to take the basket, but Ryouhei pulls away before he gets the chance. “Seriously? Aren't I supposed to be helping you?”
“You are helping.” That ugly, squirming feeling he'd had before was already starting to loosen. Karube's worrying was annoying, but it was also a reminder that someone cared. That was all he'd really wanted. ”Come on, we have to go get stuff for Miso.”
They slowly work their way through the aisles, filling up the basket as they go. Eventually, Ryouhei is forced to concede the basket to Karube. The weight nearly causing his fatigued muscles to give out. When he passes it over he can feel Karube's pointed stare burning a hole into the side of his face. The silent, pressing worry of it.
He pays with his dad's card, and as they step out, Karube places a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to still. “Do you want me to come check on you after my shift?”
They don't talk about that time. The time when Ryouhei had passed out and brained himself on his bathroom counter while home alone. How Karube, wrought with concern after hours of no contact, had broken into the house through an open window. Finding him feverish and lying in a small puddle of blood. How Karube had bandaged him up and helped bring his fever down. How Ryouhei had admitted, in his haze, that no one had cared about him being sick in a long time. They didn't talk about it, but Ryouhei knew neither of them had forgotten.
He thinks it might be nice to have Karube stop by and look after him again. To have someone actually check up on him. But the last thing Ryouhei wants is to be a bother. “It's not bad this time. Don't worry about it. Don't you have a date with Emi tonight, anyway?”
“Fuck, that's right.” Karube sighed, rubbing furiously at the back of his neck. “If you need me, just let me know. Alright?”
“Don't I always?” Ryouhei texted the most out of the three of them by a long shot. Constantly asking to hang out or go do something. He had always been the needy one.
Karube stared at him. For an instant, he looked decades older. “No. Not always. Not when you're sick or hurt. Not when it actually matters.”
It was like swallowing acid and feeling it boil his insides. There was a reason Ryouhei preferred fiction over reality: the truth always stung. “I'll be fine, Karube.” He glanced down at his fraying sandals for a moment, mustering the little energy he had left. Then he grinned, patted Karube on the shoulder, and walked away.
It would be nice to be looked after, but Ryouhei didn't need to be. He was old enough to look after himself.
3.
It only makes sense for him to get sick after lying in the street for days, letting the rain soak him through. Anyone would, not even just people with as awful a constitution as his own. Still, he’d gone a week without any side effects. Managed to get through a game and track down The Beach. He thought he’d made it out unscathed. He doesn’t know whether to attribute it to naivety or false optimism.
At least I have a bed to stay in. He can’t imagine how terrible it would be if he were stuck with chills and aches while still wandering around the streets of Shibuya. Hatter made it clear they’re trapped at The Beach, but a prison with feather-soft mattresses and electricity is better than the cold, bloodstained one outside.
Curling deeper into his blankets, Ryouhei tries vainly to go back to sleep. His head is throbbing, and every inhale comes with a snotty exhale. He can’t even take medicine because his aching joints would no doubt collapse the minute he tried to reach the bathroom. Some things never change.
Usagi comes to check on him eventually. As per the newfound routine they'd slowly fallen into since coming to The Beach. She knocks first, more for courtesy than out of any real expectation of a response. Then she barges in and tugs the curtains open, ruthlessly ignoring Ryouhei's pained groan. “Did you drink too much again?”
The idea of drinking, as miserable as he is right now, makes Ryouhei's stomach churn. He curls in on himself further, burying his face in his pillow to try and block out the light piercing into his skull. There are things he needs to do. Meetings to attend. Plans to run over with Chishiya. Mysteries to unravel. Horrific games to reluctantly play. Unfortunately, it's hard to give a damn about any of that when he's choking on his own snot and feeling his shoulders inflame every time he moves.
“Arisu?” He flinches when a hand suddenly presses against his forehead. It's no wonder Usagi is so good at hunting; she can move without a sound. “You seem warm... are you sick?”
Ryouhei grunts his best approximation of an affirmative. Talking would take too much energy, and nodding seems like a bad idea when the room already feels like it's spinning. A part of him thinks maybe he should feel bad for mentioning it to Usagi. That he should just suck it up already and get out of bed. Another part of him relaxes under her gentle touch, soothed by the knowledge that Usagi has taken care of him before and will likely do so again.
“Do you have any medicine?” The hand slips away, and along with it, time. Ryouhei floats aimlessly for a while, head spinning and mind shifting between asleep and awake. He thinks he might hear a cabinet opening and the sink running, but the sounds are so distant it could just as easily be a figment of his imagination. There's another sound, something like shifting fabric, and the burning light behind his eyelids eases.
When he dares to look, Usagi is staring down at him, paper water cup and pills in hand. “Come on, sit up. You can't take these if you're lying down.”
If he could muster it, Ryouhei would argue that it's actually pretty easy to take pills lying down. He's so used to them by now that he could swallow them dry, even with his throat swollen. Water sounds nice right about now though, and Usagi is even more stubborn than he is. So he reluctantly pushes himself up on shaking elbows and takes the pills. It's embarrassing, the way Usagi hovers as he sips tremulously from the water cup.
There is something shameful about being looked after like this. The same kind of small, useless feeling he'd gotten when she'd had to force him into eating. Because if she was looking after him, then it was an acknowledgement that he couldn't do it himself. That he was just as useless and lazy as his dad had always said he was. Too incompetent to do anything but burden those around him. That he could never amount to anything because he could never do anything for himself.
Helping him lie back down, she worries her lower lip. “Maybe I should get Chishiya. I don't want you getting worse—we have to play another game soon.”
“No. Don't.” The words sound hoarse, scratching at his throat, but he forces them out regardless. The idea of Chishiya seeing him like this is unbearable. He'd already fought so hard to gain Chishiya's hard-won respect, and even then he wasn't sure how successfully he'd done that. Ryouhei didn't want to lose Chishiya's favor because he was too weak to fight through a mere fever. As tough and dedicated as Chishiya is, Ryouhei bets he's the kind who always sees things through, regardless of how he feels. Ryouhei couldn't do that—things would be a lot easier if he could.
Worse than the idea of losing Chishiya's respect, though, was the idea of Chishiya seeing just how badly Ryouhei wanted his company. For him specifically to look after Ryouhei and hold him while his body struggled. To provide the same calm, soothing reassurance that he'd provided during the game of tag or after seeing the dumpster of bodies. The steadiness of someone who refuses to flinch even in the face of despair. Maybe Chishiya wasn't warm or understanding in the way Usagi was, but he was consistent. Consistency was something Ryouhei didn't know he needed until he'd lost it.
It wouldn't be good for Chishiya to know Ryouhei thought all that. For him to know that Ryouhei found so much comfort and stability in him. They hadn't known each other long enough for those feelings to be anything but insane. Ryouhei knew if Chishiya caught wind of them, he'd turn and run the other way. It was best if he dealt with things himself, the way he always had.
Usagi eyes him warily. “Are you sure? He might be able to help.”
“I get sick a lot,” he admits. “Trust me, I just need to sleep it off.” It would be hard, being as uncomfortable as he was, but eventually the exhaustion would win out and pull him in. He might have to miss an executive meeting–which Chishiya wouldn't be pleased about. But if he slept through the next two days or so, he could probably push past the worst of it before he was forced into another game. “Don't worry, Usagi. I'll be okay. You don't need to stay.”
He will not admit that the idea of her leaving sends a bolt of panic rushing through him. That being alone sounds terrifying and all-consuming in the same way it was when he was lying out in that street. That even just her company made him feel better than he had all morning. If he says any of that, she might feel obligated to stay, and that’s the opposite of what Ryouhei wants. Usagi has enough to worry about, and she’s already spent a lot of time looking after him–more than she should have had to. He needs to stop being so reliant on her and start taking care of himself.
“If you’re certain…” She trails off, watching him as though searching for any sign that he wants her to stay. He forces a smile and a weak thumbs up, which earns him an eye roll. “Okay. Kuina asked me to hang out, but I’ll come to check on you once we’re done. Don’t get out of bed too fast, and try to eat at some point, okay?”
“Okay.” Ryouhei highly doubted he’d have the energy or the appetite to eat anything. But he wasn't eager to have Usagi spoon-feed him again. As kind as that act had been, it had also been demeaning. He could handle himself. “Have a good time.”
Usagi leaves as quietly as she arrived, though with far more hesitation and caution than before. She is such a good friend to him that it makes a deep, emotional part inside him ache. Because, if he was honest with himself, Usagi was his best friend now. Not replacing Karube or Chota but filling a similar role in a way that Ryouhei hadn’t quite come to terms with. Most of the time he was grateful. Then there were the moments she came too close to mimicking his old friends, and he found himself resenting her for it.
He falls asleep again for an indeterminable amount of time before there’s a soft rapping sound startling him awake. It pounds to the same rhythm as his throbbing headache. Ryouhei groans against it, trying in vain to bury himself even further in his bedding. It sounds like knocking, but he doesn’t see why anyone would be coming to see him. Usagi was busy for the day, and he hadn’t been at The Beach long enough to be truly close with anyone else. Unless it was Kuina, maybe? But that couldn’t be because Usagi said they had plans.
The noise fades at some point, and Ryouhei allows himself to uncoil in relief. Now he just wishes he had asked Usagi to grab him the blanket from the other bed before she left. His limbs tremble ceaselessly, aching from the strain but too frozen to stop. Gooseflesh has worked itself over his arms and legs, almost painful in its severity. I want this to be over.
“It will be soon, I imagine. It seems like your fever might be breaking.” A slender, clinical hand presses up against his wrist. Pushing against the pulse point. “Your heartbeat is lowering, which is good.”
Cracking a tired eye open, Ryouhei makes out a fuzzy white silhouette. “Chishiya? Why are you… here?”
“You didn’t show up to our meeting on the roof,” Chishiya says. The blurry silhouette shrugs, “I was curious why. It would be bad if you were backing out now.”
“Not… backing out.” Ryouhei carefully pulls his hand out of Chishiya’s, curling it back beneath the covers. He’s probably clammy and disgusting. It was bad enough that Usagi saw him like this, but he doesn’t want Chishiya to. “Don’t you have other things to do?”
“Of course I do. But the plan is mostly on pause until you’re doing better.”
Guilt lances through him. So familiar to him now that he doesn’t even flinch at the sting. “Sorry.”
Ryouhei’s vision is starting to clear, which means he can make out the way Chishiya’s frown deepens. “What for? It’s not like you got sick on purpose.”
That’s debatable. “I’m slowing us down,” he points out. His throat aches from all the talking, and he’s half-tempted to ask Chishiya to bring him another cup of water. It feels like too much to ask. “This will set us behind, and we don’t know if we can afford that.”
“It’s only by a day or so, nothing to be overly concerned about.”
“Still.” Ryouhei’s eyes flutter, tired and heavy. Talking is taking more out of him than he thought possible. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Do you… want me to go?”
No. The idea of Chishiya staying, even just to keep him company, was deeply appealing. Even more than it had been when Usagi had offered. There was something about Chishiya that just made Ryouhei feel at ease. Like he could let go of his worries for once because he was in capable hands. After weeks of stress, Chishiya’s calm, clinical assuredness was a breath of fresh air.
But it would be too much to ask Chishiya to stay. Ryouhei hadn’t proven himself useful enough yet to be taking such risks and making a burden of himself. For all he knew, this was just another test. A question of whether he would be willing to hold the mission back for his own selfishness or not. Ryouhei didn’t plan on failing, if that was the case. “I’m fine here. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Chishiya looks at him for a long moment. Dark eyes staring until Ryouhei is convinced they’re looking through to his bones. Then Chishiya stands with a heavy sigh, “If the patient insists on refusing care, I suppose I have to listen.” He doesn’t sound as pleased as Ryouhei thought he would. No smirk or arched brow or stony acknowledgement that Ryouhei had impressed. In fact, there was a sort of heaviness to his tone. Almost as if he was disappointed. But why?
He doesn’t get the chance to ask. Chishiya slinks out in a hurry, and then Ryouhei is left alone to his suffering. The worst part is this time he knows he has no one to blame but himself.
+1
To his great astonishment and luck, Ryouhei doesn't get sick for the first six months after the meteor. He still spends a lot of that time miserable, though. Mourning Karube and Chota. Struggling to fix his relationship with his family. Working through his amnesia and reconnecting with the other meteor victims. Remembering the Borderlands... But he doesn't regret any of it. Not when he got close friends like Usagi and Kuina out of it. Not when he got a partner out of it.
Chishiya was softer than he had been back at The Beach. Ryouhei still wasn't sure about what happened between when they got separated and met up again to face the King of Spades. All he knew was that it was something critical. Chishiya's own version of the Seven of Hearts. Ryouhei hates the saying that 'pain makes you stronger,' but it's hard to deny the truth in it. They both walked away from such traumatic experiences for the better. Perhaps 'pain makes you more empathetic' would be apter.
They moved in together around month five. A little fast, perhaps, but Chishiya's apartment had more space than he'd known what to do with. Ryouhei had been eager to get away from his childhood home and all the memories it held. Living together had seemed logical.
Chishiya had changed hospitals and was on track to becoming a fellow. Ryouhei had managed to go back to school. This time for the far more interesting psychology. Things were good. Better than they had ever been before the meteor.
Then Ryouhei's crap immune system finally caught up to him.
He wakes up to icicles in his lungs and a hammer against his skull. The only point of him not completely tensed against the cold is his stomach, warmed by the arm thrown over him. Chishiya doesn't usually take big spoon, but he’d insisted last night and refused to elaborate on why. Maybe he'd sensed something Ryouhei hadn't.
Curling into himself, Ryouhei does his best to lean into Chishiya's warmth and go back to sleep. It's a weekend, so he doesn't have any classes to worry about. Maybe if he just sleeps a little longer, the fever will break all on its own, and he can move on like it never happened.
Except dozing isn't so easy when his head feels like it's being bashed in. If I just had some painkillers... But he already knows if he tries to get up, the dizziness will force him back down. The bathroom is too far for him to get to as weak as he feels.
He could wake up Chishiya. His boyfriend was a doctor; there was no one more qualified to help him. Except Ryouhei's thoughts on the matter haven't changed that much since he got sick at The Beach. He doesn't want Chishiya to feel forced to coddle him. Especially when it's one of his limited breaks from the hospital. This is supposed to be one of the few days that Chishiya doesn't have to worry about looking after sick people. Where he can actually focus on himself.
He makes a concentrated effort to just… ignore it. Squeezing his eyes tight and focusing on Chishiya’s warmth pressed against his back. To push away the ice water currently in his veins. But the harder he tries not to notice it the more he does, until he’s shivering violently even beneath the blankets.
There’s a quiet groan, and the arm around his stomach tightens. “Ryo?”
Wincing as even the soft vowels of Chishiya’s voice scratch against his headache like nails on a chalkboard, Ryouhei shifts until they’re facing one another. “Yeah?”
“Why are you shaking?” A hand comes up to cup his cheek, the way it always does when he has a particularly bad nightmare. Except instead of staying there, the hand stutters in place and then quickly flies upward to his forehead. Chishiya props himself up on his elbow, awake faster than Ryouhei thought possible for him. “You’re sick.” It’s not a question.
“It’s not that bad. I barely even noticed.” The lie is so poor, Chishiya doesn’t even deem it worthy of a response. Pushing himself up until he’s sitting, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and begins rapidly texting someone. “What are you doing?”
“Asking Kuina to grab a couple things from the store for us.” He waves his phone with a little smirk, eerily reminiscent of the number of times he’d waved at Ryouhei back in the Borderlands. The kind of cute habit that’s so strange and distinct you can’t help but wonder where it originated. “She says Ann offered to make soup and that she’ll bring it over later.”
Ryouhei struggles to push himself up onto his elbows. Sudden overwhelm momentarily overtaking his exhaustion. “She doesn’t need to do that! Honestly, I’m fine. I probably just need to sleep it off.”
“Sleep helps, but it’s important to eat too. Besides, broth is a good way to fight off dehydration.” Chishiya slips out of their bed, leaving him to the cold. His face must do something because Chishiya pauses for a second to reassure him. “I’m just going to get a couple things. I’ll be back.”
The minutes he’s left waiting seem to stretch. He’s caught between desperately wanting Chishiya to return--to be held and allowed to bask in his warmth–and wanting to be left alone where he can’t bother anyone. Chishiya had slipped into taking care of him so quickly. That was to be expected from someone who worked in the medical field. But Chishiya had always been good at hiding his true feelings, and Ryouhei wouldn’t put it past him to repress his annoyance and exhaustion if he thought it would benefit someone else.
When Chishiya returns, he has a glass of water, a bottle of pills, and a thermometer in hand. Thrown over his shoulder is the Tetris-themed throw blanket they usually keep on the couch. He settles the glass and pills on the nightstand. Turning towards the bed, he holds the thermometer up the same way Ryouhei imagines he holds tools during surgery.
He does his best to lean away from Chishiya’s worried hands and the metal thermometer being pressed against his lips. He doesn’t get far though, left feeble enough by the fever that even Chishiya’s scrawny limbs can overpower him. Reluctantly, he opens his mouth and lets the metal prod beneath his tongue. It’s hard not to jump when it beeps, loud and angry. Chishiya’s brows furrow as he looks over the number.
“You really don’t have to worry about me, Shiya. I don’t feel that bad.”
Rolling his eyes, Chishiya pulls him into a sitting position and forcibly presses the glass of water into Ryouhei’s hands. “You’re a bad liar. You should stop trying.”
"I thought doctors weren't allowed to override a patient's wishes." It would be easier to just give in. To let his boyfriend look after him and be done with it. But there is a small voice in the back of his mind, young and guilty, that insists he doesn’t make a burden of himself. That he is too old to be bothering other people with something like this. Children are incapacitated by mild fevers, but adults? Ryouhei really has no excuse.
"They aren't. Usually.” Chishiya appraises him, “But if a patient is deemed too sick to be reasonable... then the decision can be passed on to someone else. Such as a partner."
"Is that so?" He should have known better than to pick a fight with Chishiya when he wasn’t at his best. It was a losing battle from the beginning. Now he’s just forced himself to suffer from Chishiya’s smugness when he inevitably gives in.
"I'm afraid it is. And seeing as I am a doctor, I think I have the authority to say that someone with a fever of 39 degrees–” He waves the thermometer for emphasis “--does not have the ability to rationally decline care. So I suppose I'll just have to ask your partner what he thinks."
"And?"
"Well, it's either you let me take care of you here at home or we go to the hospital.” He brushes loose silver strands out of his face, and it draws Ryouhei’s attention to the prominent dark circles under his eyes. “I don't know about you, but I think staying here would be simpler."
Maybe fighting is just making things harder for the both of them. If Chishiya is determined to look after him, there’s not much Ryouhei can do to assuage him. "Fine. You win.” He takes the pills handed to him and leans back down into the bed. Tired muscles relaxing with relief as Chishiya throws another blanket over him. “I'm going to remind you of this conversation the next time you get sick, though. You're just as stubborn as I am."
"I guess we'll have to see who wins that argument once we get there.” Ryouhei watches Chishiya move with the uncharacteristic softness he usually reserves for only his worst-off patients and tries to let himself lean into it. To accept what he is given for once instead of flinching away because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. “Now drink some water and try to get some sleep. Tylenol should reduce your fever, but if it doesn't, we'll have to try something else."
Chishiya makes to walk away, and before he can think better of it, Ryouhei reaches up to grasp at his wrist. "Will you... stay?” It’s selfish of him. The kind of needy, thoughtless request that his dad would have torn into him for. But the Borderlands proved to Ryouhei that he’s really not above a little selfishness. And, at his core, he knows Chishiya won’t judge him for it. He’s always trying to push Ryouhei to ask for more. “Just until I fall asleep?"
"Sure. I'm not going anywhere.” Chishiya acquiesces so easily. As if the decision to look after Ryouhei, to take care of him, is as simple and automatic as breathing. It stuns him so badly he forgets to feel guilty. How can he when Chishiya is so confident in his decision?
Chishiya climbs into the bed beside him, arm once again wrapping around Ryouhei’s waist and pulling him in close. “Get some rest. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Fighting with Chishiya is almost always a losing battle, but Ryouhei can’t bring himself to mind. Not when Chishiya is so willing to fight to give him what he’s always silently craved but been too afraid to ask for. Not when losing means comfort.