This is a one-shot, and it was written for a dear friend of mine, a fellow writer on this site. Her Penname is Mistress of the Arts. She's quite sexy, if I do say so myself, and smart, and incredible, and DO YOU SEE WHY I WROTE THIS?
You see, I want to cheer her up, therefore I wrote this in her honor.
Miharu is her OC, and this little oneshot primarily follows the relationship revealed henceforth in Mistress of The Art's story Skies of Ice, but I spoil nothing really here, so get on over there and read her delightful story yourself.
Disclaimer: Noragami is not mine, and Miharu rightfully belongs to her gorgeous maker.
Without further adieu, here is my fanfiction of a fanfiction.
Rain was something Yukine grew to like. It was unique. It could at one moment be a gentle pitter-patter against a window, and the next, a monsoon that consumed everything in its path; welcoming to unacceptable in such a short period of time.
Rain kind of reminded him of himself.
The blonde regalia launched a lone pebble across the lake bed, which was now beginning to ripple under the influence of dotting rain, and then rose from his crouch. Shoes kicked other stones mindlessly as he wandered away, hands stuffed in his pockets as he released a bored sigh.
The gray clouds above swirled tauntingly, and Yukine took a moment to recall the last time it had been anything but rainy. All it did was pour these days. Not that he was complaining; it took Yato off his back most of the time because the god simply refused to leave the house for jobs in bad weather, something about his hair frizzing in the dampness or whatever.
"Damn…" The rain picked up suddenly and he made for any type of refuge from the pelting drops.
"Hey, Miharu, you home?" He didn't wait for an answer, climbing through the window that had been left half open. He was lucky to have made it in time, rain and wind picking up a few notches and nipping at his backside as he clambered inside the warm bedroom. It was empty, and Yukine couldn't imagine why; the girl loved her damn bed, especially on cold days as such.
"Miharu?" He called out again, swiping his beanie from the top of his head and rummaging a hand through his wavy locks. "Where is she?" He took note of the rumpled bed sheets strewn wildly across the floor, casually crossing over to where an overturned book and box of tissues sat idly on her nightstand. "Hmm." He lost interest in the lonely bedroom, walking out to seek the tomboy elsewhere. She had to be home, having left the lights on in the small apartment, even leaving the window open… But where?
"I'm going to raid your fridge if you don't answer me." He wasn't hungry enough to do that, but was seriously concerned upon the silence answering him. Miharu loved her food. She worked at a bakery, for goodness sake. Something must've been terribly wrong.
"Miharu!" Louder now, he checked the kitchen, came up empty-handed, and even poked his head inside a towel closet to see if she'd gotten bored and was playing a trick on him. Nothing.
Then, he went back to double check the tiny bedroom, but his eyes caught on something jutting out of the bathroom doorway. The regalia's bright orange orbs widened and he lunged forward towards the fallen girl. "Miharu!" Her expression was that of discomfort against the tiled flooring, though she was unmoving and Yukine found himself facing an immediate moment of shock. His hands clumsily griped at her shoulders, pulling her torso and twisted arms off the floor.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Miharu, wake up!" He shook her roughly, having knelt down himself. What could've happened?! Her breathing was considerably slow, eye lids clenched in some type of unrelaxed agony, and GOOD GOD SHE WAS BURNING UP. Her whole body felt as though it had been coaxed in hot ashes before being unceremoniously dipped in a pit of lava.
Clueless as what else to do, the boy merely continued rocking her with mild ferocity, occasionally looking to and fro as if the insides of the simple bath would fuel his brain with inspiration. To any avail, though, her eyes fluttered open and she shot him an annoyed glare through slanted lids. "Yukine… Quit it..." Her voice sounded tremendously raspy, as if she had suddenly aged sixty years, but he disregarded her words, relief flooding him as he breathed out sharply and ceased the rapid movement of the girl's torso.
"You're alive!" He hugged her excitedly, but pulled back quickly, cheeks flushing the familiar scarlet as they always did around her.
"It's just a cold…" She panted, waking from her intolerable stupor. Her eyes carried the weight of bruise-like bags (more like suitcases if you asked him), lips pale and cracked and really not alive-looking. In fact, all of she appeared not alive-looking. As if she'd dug herself from her own grave. Or like the neighborhood dog had manhandled her. "I just need to sleep it off… Help me to my bed."
Yukine stuttered out an affirmation, rising slowly with her blanched arm lazily draped around his shoulders. You know, it was times like these he especially hated being shorter than her. He continuously fumbled over his footing, either missing a step or kicking himself as he attempted to carry half the girl's dead weight.
After successfully (surprisingly) making it into the tomboy's room, in all its tomboyish décor, Yukine heaved her to the side of the bed, and she crumbled atop it herself. She did little to situate herself, clammy palms awkwardly groping her blue comforter until it was tucked in at her chin. When Miharu decided she liked the position, she paid little to no mind to the regalia, who stood motionless and thumb-twiddling, and squeezed her eyelids shut as another wave of dizziness overcame her.
The brunette was quiet for a moment, and Yukine took to standing stiffly, watching the ghoulish female before him stir quietly as her headache ensued.
"Mmmm..." She groaned out painfully, hand coming up to caress her temple. "Yukine, can you get me some water?" Her grossly cracked voice sent shivers down his spine, and he nodded wordlessly before darting out and to the kitchen. He didn't know what to do! He didn't know how humans worked! He was only a pretty blonde!
…
But this was his friend, and she needed his help. Mustering as much determination as the shinki could possibly manage, he filled up a clean glass of pitcher-water and returned to the sickly teen's side, gracelessly helping it to her mouth.
She thanked him for the assistance, and the spilling of it down her chin, turning her head away from him as she attempted to sleep again.
An hour later, she was groaning. But she wasn't asking for any favors from the regalia, who opted to sit on the floor and watch over her silently as the storm raged on outside.
There was a crack of thunder, and Yukine sighed impatiently. He needed to do something, something for her. She was always there for him, wasn't she? It was his turn, but he didn't know what to do other than awkwardly stare at her to make sure she was still breathing.
"Miharu?" He found himself inching toward her limp form, voice wavering uneasily as he contemplated continuing.
"Ughn?" She grunted in reply. Yukine gulped, studying as she turned her body towards him, one arm hanging out and sagging to the floor.
"You need… something?"
"Ughn."
"…is that a yes?"
"Ughn."
"…Okay." He rolled back onto his heels and stood, sparing one last glance over his shoulder, concern painted across his features, before exiting the room again.
Right, the kitchen. He went through the barren pantry, coming across some dry ramen and bread. Nope. Well, maybe. He faintly recalled seeing Hiyori devouring a steaming bowl of soup when she was ill. It was a decent enough lead, and he grabbed the packet of dry noodles.
The light on her nightstand flickered in an uncanny way when lightning struck nearby. Yukine nudged the door open with his foot, one hand balancing a steaming bowl of ramen, the other pinching the edge of an attempted ice pack. Sick people were both hot and cold at the same time, right? RIGHT?
The blonde regalia hoped for the best as he vacated his nervously quivering hands by setting everything within her reach.
"Miharu, look." He insisted, stirring the soup for good measure. She was unmoving again. A twinge of annoyance passed through the boy, and he gritted his teeth. "Idiot, you choose now to go back to sleep? After I've done all this?" He sighed uncharismatically and plopped onto the floor.
When he came to, bones in his back popping in an unsettling manner, he realized not much time had passed, and the girl before him was still snoozing. The storm waged wars outside of the apartment, his nap being interrupted by a frightening rupture of thunder.
"How long is she… Huh? What's this?" Ah, his efforts were not futile; the bowl of ramen had decreased in volume significantly, and the icepack, now just cold liquid in a sack, was placed upright on the forehead of the dozing brunette.
He gave a twinkled grin, fist clenching in triumph.
"Hey Miharu? Did you like the ramen?"
"Ghnn."
Yukine chuckled to himself after the initial shock of discovering she was coherent enough to hear him. He crawled towards her to examine the bag of water sliding down her face. Then, he tugged at it, the determination from earlier returning with vigor, and made to move for the door.
But then, he was suddenly grabbed tightly by the wrist and pulled onto the bed, and unmanly yelp escaping his lips as the liquid in hand went flying.
"MIHA-!"
"I'm cold." She squeezed his front to hers through the blanket, head tucking into the crevice of his neck. As if she didn't even realize what she was doing to him. Boy, Yato was probably sobbing with stings at this point.
Yukine's skin was aflame with unnerving red hues, several beads of sweat forming on his brow. He gulped several times, unsure of where to put his hands, and worse, unsure of where they already were.
"Yukine." Her sickly voice breathed against his collarbone, a shiver traveling many places throughout his body.
"Y-yeah?" It came out as a squeak, and he bit his bottom lip with watery eyes. There was a moment where she just stayed silent, brown head of layered hair bobbing around as she snuggled closer. Yukine forgot how to breath, incredulously, it seemed, at the exact time his heart forgot how to operate.
"Thanks for taking care of me." She sniffled repulsively against him, but he was too honed in on her words to notice.
"Mhm."
In the end, he had a new experience to cling onto. One he wouldn't like to forget.
There you have it :). Be sure to leave a review (THAT DOESN'T MEAN FLAME ME) and also check out Skies of Ice, as mentioned before, if you are digging this!
Thanks, and have a good one!