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Reo doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have: twilight has settled in for its shift, blacking out the world beyond Nagi’s windows. Reo’s last memory is a soft blue sky, golden sunshine filtering in — Nagi had been complaining about the glare on his screen, and Reo had been laughing at him.
They had been sitting on the couch, hadn’t they? But somehow, Reo’s in Nagi’s room — in his bed, draped in a few blankets, a few pillows clumsily tucked underneath him. There’s Choki, perched on the dresser beside him as usual, but Nagi’s consoles and chargers have been replaced with medicine, water bottles, and tissues.
Reo’s mind starts to sluggishly move. Why is all this stuff here? How did he end up in Nagi’s bed? Where’s Nagi? Is he feeling unwell? What time is it? Fuck, he needs to call Ba-ya — wait, why is it so hot, even once he’s tossed off the blankets — wait, why is the world spinning?
Reo clutches at his head, groaning. Nagi suddenly appears, as if summoned by the sound. He’s got on an apron; Reo must be dreaming. There are already stars and spots dancing before his heavy eyes, and there’s a steady, slow throbbing pushing up against his skull. His mouth is dry; his tongue feels like sandpaper when he tries to wet his lips.
“You’re sick, boss,” Nagi says. He sits beside him, close enough for Reo to see the small cut on the bridge of his nose, a remnant of last practice’s wipeout. “Lay back down. I told Ba-ya.”
“Sick?” Reo’s brow furrows; he squints, suddenly unsure if Nagi’s actually multiplied or if it’s a trick of his mind. “But I was fine earlier.”
Nagi huffs quietly, putting out a hand to touch Reo’s forehead. After a moment, it slides down to Reo’s cheek. Nagi’s palm is soft and surprisingly cool; Reo can’t help leaning into it. “Yeah, and then you knocked out and started sleeptalking.”
Nagi’s hand retracts; the gentle, soothing feeling flees, replaced by unrelenting, unyielding warmth once more. Reo wants to chase after it, wants it back, but he can barely move, pinned down by the heavy heat — wait, sleeptalking?!
Nagi puts a hand on his own face, then nods in confirmation. “You have a fever.”
“Get a thermometer,” Reo demands. He doesn’t remember what he’s dreamt of, but lately, all of his dreams have starred the boy before him, and he can only pray that God is his ally tonight, that Nagi knows nothing.
“No, this is how my mom taught me,” Nagi says plaintively.
Before Reo can protest, Nagi takes Reo’s hands, putting one on his forehead, and putting the other on Reo’s. “See the difference?”
Nagi’s right, even if half the heat on Reo’s face is wholly unrelated to the fever. It would be so easy for his fingers to slide into Nagi’s white fringe, or to cradle his face, the way Nagi just had, and pass it off as… no, he’s getting greedy. He isn’t thinking clearly.
Reo clears his throat. “What, um, was I sleeptalking about?”
“Just that it was too hot and too cold,” Nagi replies; Reo could cry with relief. “Opening a window didn’t work. The blankets seemed okay, except you kept kicking them away but then wanting them back. The towel I put on your head fell off, and look, you even bruised me.”
Nagi shows off the purple splotches on his left calf. He seems a little proud of it, if the mildly shiny look in his eyes means anything, but Reo’s still quick to apologize.
“I’ll buy you melon bread tomorrow.”
“Whenever is fine. Reo’s spoiled side is surprisingly cute,” Nagi says, waving a hand. “I’ll get the towel. Choki, watch Reo.”
After pricking Choki in parting, Nagi pads off, leaving Reo to wonder if he’s woken up into some alternate dimension. Spoiled?! Cute?! His body and these blankets have seriously betrayed him.
… Is Nagi telling the truth? Had he really not said anything else? What could’ve made Nagi think he was cute?
Reo slowly wraps himself in a blanket and lays back down. It’s still too hot, but he wants the comfort and cover it brings. His heart is hammering in his chest, and it’s harder to breathe, suddenly. He knows that Nagi cares for him in his own ways, but it’s always been quietly — like reminders not to be so overexcited that he forgets something, a silent offering of snacks, a little hug or a touch. Nagi makes so many allowances for Reo, even if Reo’s someone troublesome that demands effort. He’s letting Reo stay in his home, in his bed, trying to make him feel better, when he could’ve just told Ba-ya to pick Reo up.
Ba-ya’s always been the one to take care of him whenever he’s sick — back when he was a child, she would bring him fresh juice and perfectly buttered toast, would turn over his pillows every now and then and make sure his stuffed lion stayed securely in bed with him. He’s always been a bit of restless sleeper, but Ba-ya hadn’t minded - she would sit in bed with him and read him a story, and if Reo ever cried because the fever was too much, she never hushed him or told him to act like a Mikage heir and bear it. She only ever held him.
It’s been quite a while since Reo’s actually been sick, but he supposes the change in seasons and their extra training has led to this. He usually gets more sleep, but there had been exams, and then Nagi finally agreed to let him start playing his favorite video game with him, so Reo’s been practicing in advance.
The thing is surprisingly addicting. He can understand Nagi a little more now.
But the towel — the apron — sitting with Reo even if he was kicking him — has Nagi been taking care of him? That’s something that Reo can’t quite understand, not when caring for a feverish, spoiled (but cute?!) person would be a hassle for someone like Nagi.
Sending Reo home would’ve been fine. It would’ve been easy. Reo would’ve been well taken care of, and Nagi could’ve taken his usual nap. It would’ve been the expected thing. Reo wouldn’t have held it against him.
But now, Nagi’s surprised him like this, in such a painfully sweet way, and Reo has to decipher what it means. When people care for Reo, give him things or unexpectedly do favors, it’s usually because they want something in return. Reo can handle it — he knows this world’s transactional nature, and how to manage it to get what he wants, too.
But Nagi’s different. Even if Reo began to spoil him purely to achieve their dream, to make the path as easy and comfortable for Nagi, it quickly became something more. Reo began to give far more freely, just to see Nagi’s contentment. Nagi is his treasure, and to share their lives like this together — soccer and video games, simple errands and everyday adventures — is a happiness that Reo could’ve only dreamed of.
A boy like Nagi Seishiro is impossible not to fall in love with. Knowing this side of him is going to make it so much worse.
There’s a knock on the open door. Nagi’s returned, a gently steaming bowl in one hand and a cold towel in another. After putting the bowl by Choki, he places the towel on Reo’s forehead. It’s a little too wet, rivulets of cold water running down Reo’s face — Reo can’t say he minds it, honestly, with how overheated he is.
Nagi pauses, eyes narrowing; Reo stills, suddenly nervous, at being fixed under his gaze.
Nagi takes the towel off, brushes Reo’s bangs back, and then reapplies it, taking care not to flatten or dampen his hair. Nagi’s touch is so gentle, even with how fleeting it is — Reo misses it faster than he can memorize it. Nagi’s already turning away, as if he hadn’t so adorably considered Reo’s vanity even at a time like this, as if it were nothing.
Ah, perhaps it was nothing.
“Made soup,” Nagi holds up the bowl like it’s a prize, before his expression shifts into something mildly guilty. “Actually, it’s just instant soup, so please lower your standards for today, boss.”
“If it’s from my treasure, it’s good,” Reo says. Lifting his hands to take the bowl, he finds his limbs to feel far too heavy. It’s like once he fell asleep, he became unable to shake off the lethargic trappings of slumber. Everything is like it’s in warm slow-motion. “Ah, I’ll eat it later, Nagi.”
Nagi lifts up the spoon, and waits. Blinks once, twice, while Reo can’t bring himself to blink at all.
“Are you… feeding me?”
Nagi tilts his head in confusion, as if Reo’s just asked an incredibly stupid and obvious question. Which — yeah. That’s really only one explanation here. Somehow, it was never embarrassing feeding Nagi, but being on the other end is downright mortifying. If Reo’s face wasn’t already a dull red from fever, it would’ve quickly become so.
“Why the apron?” Reo blurts out, trying to buy time. “Just for heating up soup?”
Nagi looks down, then back up. “...Reo wore it last time.”
Last time? Reo’s hazy mind can’t remember, since he’s cooked for Nagi a few times now. He supposes he used the apron — it has little cacti on it, though they’re not as uniquely shaped as Choki. It’s cute. Even cuter on Nagi. Since they’ve begun training in earnest, he’s bulked up a bit — up close, Reo’s gaze can catch on the way it stretches across Nagi’s chest, the way the straps cling to his broad shoulders.
“The soup exploded,” Nagi adds sulkily. “The first time. On the shirt that Reo gave me.”
Ah — Nagi’s changed his shirt from earlier to one of his standard hoodies. Reo had been too out of it to notice, and he’s definitely still too out of it, because he’s almost disappointed that Nagi wasn’t lazy enough to just forgo a shirt entirely.
“Reo,” Nagi says, sounding almost like he’s scolding him. “Soup. Oh, and then I have to make you tea… Which should you have first…?”
Nagi puts the soup down onto the dresser to consult his phone. He’s looked up what to do when someone is sick — Reo can see the instructions clearly, can see how the screen illuminates Nagi’s focused gaze and furrowed brow.
“Soup,” Nagi decides. “Because you haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Nagi,” Reo begins, unsure of what to say — he doesn’t get to figure it out, though, because he breaks into a coughing fit, rolling away to avoid infecting Nagi. He nearly rolls off the bed, and coughs harder trying to stifle his small, surprised shriek. It doesn’t work; Nagi laughs.
“Ugh,” Reo says once the fit passes. His throat feels even worse now, but not terrible enough to submit to Nagi hand-feeding him. “Fuck. I’m sick, aren’t I.”
“Told you,” Nagi hums. “Soup’s cold already… I’ll reheat it.”
“Wait,” Reo says. “It’s fine.”
Nagi’s brow creases. “It’s supposed to be hot, Reo.”
“I…” Reo tries to swallow. He can’t. He licks his lips, but that doesn’t help either. “Let me help. Please.”
He doesn’t know how to explain that if Nagi takes a single step to do one more stupidly simple yet infinitely troublesome thing for him, Reo will have to throw himself onto the ground and stop him. Reo’s seen Nagi eat cold or lukewarm food a number of times, back when Nagi always brushed off Reo’s offers to help. It’s easier to just eat it the way it is… eating’s a pain too, Nagi had said.
Clearly, the fever’s getting to him. Reo’s losing brain cells by the moment, but he just can’t let Nagi do this alone. Reo’s supposed to be here to make his life easier, not to take up space in his home and have him run around.
“Whoa, Reo never says please,” Nagi says. “Sure, boss.”
Right, Reo can still be in charge here! He’s the boss, so — so why doesn’t it feel like it?! The way Nagi’s looking at him makes Reo feel small, like he’s nothing more than his racing heart.
“Cold?” Nagi says as Reo awkwardly slides out of the bed. “Want a hoodie?”
Reo doesn’t trust himself with one of Nagi’s hoodies right now, so he just sullenly wraps himself in one of the blankets and follows Nagi to the kitchen. The cold towel on his forehead is deposited into the bathroom sink along the way; it had helped, leaving Reo’s skin feeling considerably better.
“It feels like we’ve switched places,” Reo murmurs. He doesn’t know how to feel about it; it makes him feel like a child again, the one who trailed after his parents, hoping their hands would linger within reach — but something tells him that if he put his hand out now, Nagi would take it.
He doesn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Nagi leads him right to an absolute battlefield.
“Nagi, what the hell?”
There’s bags full of groceries everywhere. and yeah, Reo can see where the soup exploded — right by the microwave, there’s splotches on the wall and floor. There’s a cutting board on the table, covered in scattered scraps of onion and celery. A tomato bleeds onto the ground; there’s the subtle scent of something burnt. A window’s open, and a portable fan is on — had there been a fire?!
“Nagi,” Reo repeats, slowly losing the little grip on sanity he has left. “Nagi, my treasure. What. Happened.”
“I ordered food,” Nagi shrugs, as if that’s the important part. “I didn’t have all the stuff here before. Ba-ya said to make soup, so… that didn’t work out.”
“You asked Ba-ya what to make?” Reo asks, voice small. He drapes the blanket onto an available, clean chair, and slowly starts gathering what he can: the scraps of food, scattered utensils. Nagi frowns, and takes a few steps towards Reo, hovering.
“Mm,” Nagi says. “Reo can sit. Rest. Just keep me company.”
How often has Reo said that to Nagi? It’s a strange thing, to see his own love mirrored back to him.
As soon as he thinks that completely inane, ridiculous thought, Reo feels like all the air leaves his lungs. What kind of shitty assumption is that? It’s one thing to have a crush. It’s another thing to start thinking about shit like love.
This fever’s really getting to him. He tosses out the scraps, carries the miscellaneous utensils to the sink. Nagi follows; he leans against Reo’s back, soft hands landing on Reo’s waist, bandaged chin — another minor injury from practice — finding a home in the crook of Reo’s shoulder.
Reo spins around, wanting to tell him to move, but those words don’t come out at all. There’s a few inches between them, and it’s both too much and not enough.
“What do you do when you’re sick? Or hungry?” Reo says. “Who do you call?”
“I manage. Sometimes I text my parents, if I really need to. But now there’s Reo to take care of me, who’ll come if I call.” Nagi flashes a peace sign at Reo, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. Reo’s blinded by the sight, so much so that he shrinks back.
Part of him wants to run towards this open affection from Nagi. Part of him wants to run away from it. The result is that he’s paralyzed, and all he can do is nod, and ignore the wetness pricking at his eyes.
“Always, Nagi. If you need me, I’ll always be here. For anything.”
“I know,” Nagi says. That sweet little smile is still there, and Reo’s breaking down — he wants so badly to run into Nagi’s arms, to just be held, to be told that this is okay, that it’s okay to want, and that if Reo wants, Nagi will give. He wants Nagi to tell him that it’s fine — cute — even if Reo acts spoiled and greedy. That Reo doesn’t have to do everything himself, even if that’s what he prefers.
Nagi touches his cheek. Reo thinks Nagi’s taking his temperature again, until Nagi swipes at his eyes, fingers coming away wet.
“Your eyes are watering,” Nagi mumbles. “Is it because you picked up the onions?””
“Yes. Yes, exactly that, you’re a genius,” Reo babbles, sidestepping Nagi to rush for his blanket. He wraps himself in it like it can protect him, hide how utterly exposed he feels, and hovers by the chair. “So I’ll just… rest like you said.”
“Okay. Good.” Nagi looks pleased. He dumps the soup back into a pot on the stove, stirring it idly as it heats up. He’s the picture of a house husband — free hand on his hip, apron stretched across his chest. Reo burns with fever, with more.
He’ll have to tell Nagi that he wants to sleep soon. That’ll save him from all of this.
“Hey, Reo,” Nagi hums, and despite himself, Reo shuffles over, mindful not to be too close. “This is the kind of stuff you like doing all the time, right?”
Reo’s thankful for his makeshift shield; he uses it to hide his face, the way it's contorting. “It’s… yeah.”
It’s really just for you, Nagi.
But how can I tell you that? If you don’t already know, how can I tell you?
“I think I get it now,” Nagi says thoughtfully.
“Get what?”
“It’s nice to feel like someone important needs you,” Nagi mumbles, staring steadfastly into the soup. His cheeks are turning pink. “Like.. like when you play as the hero, and you have to save the princess or something…”
How can he get shy now?! Doesn’t he know how Reo’s feeling?! Fever aside, he’s about to explode!
Someone important. Nagi’s really doing a number on Reo’s heart today, fuck. Nagi’s not looking at him, and Reo keeps himself hidden, and it only makes the moment feel all the more like a balloon swelling between them, about to burst.
“You’d make a hell of a princess,” Reo jokes, trying to laugh it off. “You’d be Sleeping Beauty, and you wouldn’t want to be saved from your nap.”
“Mm, that’s a good one,” Nagi says. “Reo is… hm…”
“I’ll be the hero,” Reo says. With the barrier of the blanket, he feels brave enough to lean against Nagi’s shoulder. He peeks up at Nagi, only to find Nagi’s dark gray gaze already on him. “Who drags you away from your nap to play soccer.”
“Nah, Reo’s like a new wife,” Nagi says, the corners of his lips quirking up into a faint smile. “Like Cinderella.”
“Cinderella,” Reo repeats, stunned. “Really?”
Nagi taps the part of the blanket that rests over Reo’s hair. “This is like a veil, right? And Reo is kind, and good at singing — good at everything — and whoever meets you loves you… so you’re like a rich Cinderella, who sweeps people off their feet, and then they can’t stop thinking about you.”
Reo has a distinct feeling that Nagi’s suddenly talking about more than just video games and fairy tales, but is he really saying what Reo thinks he is?
“Soup’s hot again,” Nagi says nonchalantly. Reo steps back, unsure, as Nagi fills up the bowl. “If you go to the couch, I’ll bring it.”
Reo nods hastily, retreating from the kitchen. Maybe he had just imagined that — how Nagi’s voice had sounded, how he had looked. How he had touched the blanket like it really was a bridal veil, one that he wanted to lift off Reo’s hair and — and what?
Reo collapses onto the couch, wondering if he has enough time to fake falling asleep. He tries to breathe; he counts to ten, then counts to twenty.
By thirty, Nagi arrives, and Reo turns to him, desperate. “I’ll nap and then eat, Nagi — sleep speeds up recovery, you know!”
Reo’s stomach, at that very moment, growls. Reo freezes, smile sticking onto his face painfully. Nagi raises an eyebrow.
“Eat and then sleep.” Nagi says, plopping down next to Reo. “You need food to take the medicine, too.”
That’s a good point. Reo shouldn’t be a coward, and run away from what could help him just because he doesn’t know what to do about Nagi’s sudden affection. He can handle eating. He’s able to move now, at least. When he takes the bowl, Nagi doesn’t push to feed him, just looks at him thoughtfully.
So they sit in silence, Reo downing the soup and Nagi scrolling on his phone. This is a little more tolerable to Reo, even if his mind keeps tracing the day’s events over and over, trying to find their shapes and edges, trying to find the line between love and like.
“Soup’s good,” Reo says quietly. Nagi smiles.
“Sleep?” Nagi asks, and Reo nods. Barely able to look at Nagi, he shuffles off to the bedroom, bundling up in the covers and burrowing in deep. The blankets smell distinctly like Nagi, and it’s comforting, even if his heart is pounding. He’ll never know if his fever breaks if he keeps staying here!
It’s a few more minutes before Nagi arrives with tea. He nudges the medicine and water on the dresser towards Reo, pausing before cracking yet another smile. “Dr. Choki says you have to take your medicine. He told me himself.”
Reo can’t help but smile back. “Oh, really?”
“Mhm.” Nagi slides in next to Reo, and Reo tenses. “What are you doing?”
“Being a… hm… Nagi garage.” Nagi pats himself. “The Reo limousine can park here for the night.”
“Nagi,” Reo says, laughter bleeding into his disbelief. Nagi is so cute, pink-cheeked but refusing to take it back, keeping his hand over his heart like a promise. "What are you saying?”
“Sleeping on Reo is the comfiest,” Nagi says. “So this time, you can sleep on me. And this way, if you wake up and need something, I’ll know.”
Nagi really is a treasure, but Reo can’t let him do this. “You’ll get sick, Nagi. You have to go somewhere else.”
“Where else would I go,” Nagi asks, “but where you are?”
“You literally live here,” Reo says, suffocating a cough with the crook of his elbow. His smile, though, refuses to be reigned in. It's hard to fight when Nagi's pouting at him. It always has been. “There’s a room for guests, right? Be a good boy for me and sleep there.”
“But Reo’s here.”
“Here and sick,” Reo says, and punctuates his words with yet another stifled cough. “It’s enough that you’ve let me stay and made soup and everything, Nagi. I promise. Thank you, seriously. I felt…”
He pauses, something in his chest swelling and nearly closing off his throat, but he pushes on. “I felt special, Nagi.”
“You are special,” Nagi says. Yet another attack on Reo’s heart, demanding his quick reflexes to diffuse it.
“Not as special as you, though.” Reo pokes Nagi in the chest. “My treasure can’t fall ill.”
“If I get sick,” Nagi points out, “We can just hang out all day and do nothing. You already slept on the bed and the couch and came to the kitchen, so won’t I get sick no matter what? Reo went everywhere instead of just resting here.”
Reo smacks him, despite how weak and heavy he feels, and Nagi has the decency to pretend to wince. “You put me in here, genius! You could’ve left me on the couch or sent me home! Did you just want to get sick and get out of practice?!”
“Yeah,” Nagi says shamelessly, and then, quieter, “Wanted to take care of Reo.”
Reo rubs his face, both in fond exasperation and to hide his blush. Once he's well enough to analyze this, he's going to get so much revenge on Nagi. “And if we’re both sick, who takes care of us?”
“We’ll go to Reo’s house to see Ba-ya.”
“You have it all figured out,” Reo sighs, grudgingly admiring Nagi’s level of planning, and its heights of both care and laziness. “Fine. We sleep here. If I kick you and you bruise, you had it coming. You can’t use it to get out of practice.”
“Okay, boss,” Nagi says, far too smug and cheerful, but when he puts his arm around Reo and pulls him in close, Reo really can’t complain at all.