Too Close for Comfort #1: Sick Day

For the first time in years, Narumi Ayumu woke up and found that he couldn't move. His joints ached, his throat was on fire, and his head was a woollen, hazy cloud. Even during the height of his affairs with the Blade Children, through which he had endured more than a few sleepless nights, he had never felt this tired.

Which meant - he coughed until he thought a lung might come up - he was sick.

Rolling over feebly so that he was on his side, he forced one eye open to look at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly noon. He'd slept clear through the alarm and then some.

The apartment was very, very quiet, aside from the sound of his neighbour's toddler thumping toys against the wall between their rooms. Ayumu rolled once more onto his back. His head hurt and he was hungry, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about either problem.

He was alone, after all. Madoka had made it a habit of not coming home for long stretches of time. Sometimes Ayumu wouldn't catch a glimpse of her for weeks, only to find her sleeping on the couch after school,fingers clutching some scrap of paper or other (he never peeked) and oblivious to his tiptoeing around as he made supper. Sometimes she woke up and they chatted, not awkwardly, but Ayumu's words always felt, inside, slightly forced; and Madoka's tackles and teasing didn't ring quite true, as though she were a clock set a few hours behind. She never stayed very long, either: Ayumu would go to bed with her in the next room, and wake up the next morning to an empty apartment and a note with his allowance attached on the kitchen table.

And so it was that he continued to learn new dishes, but the plates that came off his stove lightened on the onions, since no one liked them anymore (they'd grown on him, but that didn't matter), and occasionally he found himself baking cakes (which he almost hated, but that didn't matter either), or other things not in his taste, but were packed into his bento anyway (after all, he'd made them).

In between the cookbooks he read sappy love stories thrust on him in lieu of kumas and usagis to the face when he was declared to be too frigid and needed to feel some "emotion". They were never good, and he would kill himself the day he even so much as had an inkling of some of the "emotions" the characters in these books often proclaimed they felt, usually in badly written prose.

A couple of those books were, in fact, on his nightstand. He'd thumbed through them the previous night, settling into bed earlier than usually because he felt tired and spent the better part of an hour rolling his eyes at the underlined passages (He was grateful for her love and kindness and set out to thank her in everyway he could; including breakfast in bed every morning and roses before dinner) before falling asleep.

----

One minute he was staring dizzily at the ceiling, the next he was half-conscious; woken by the loud banging at the door and the whirring of his cellphone, vibrating against the top of his drawer.

Groaning, he lifted himself out of bed, and pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself against the wave of vertigo that descended as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. It passed after a moment; and though he was immediately inflicted with a racking cough, he did, however scarcely, feel better than he had earlier. A brief glance at his window told him that it was dusk out.

He flipped open the phone and croaked, "I'm coming," before snapping it shut again and heading wobbily into the living room.

When Ayumu managed to get the lock open, a feat that proved to be rather difficult with shaky hands, the door swung open with such force he was nearly knocked over, and his ears met with a loud, concerned squeal. Maybe he should have just ignored it all together and gone back to bed.

Hiyono's arm shot out from the growing darkness to steady him. "Narumi-san! Are you okay?"

"Don't barge in like that," he said hoarsely, too weak to snap. "I'm fine."

"Narumi-san doesn't look fine," she said suspiciously, and lifted a hand towards his face, which he batted away. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm just sick, that's all. What are you doing here?"

Hiyono made an exasperated clucking noise with her tongue. "We can't keep standing in the doorway like this, it's cold out here! Come on -" she grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and shoved him inside, shutting the door behind her with such vehemence that Ayumu feared it would come right off it's hinges.

"It's spring," he said balefully, "It's not cold." It wasn't. The trees were dropping flowers and he had already tucked away his winter coat in the back of his closet.

"There's a chilly breeze outside," she said firmly, pushing him towards the couch. "And you're just wearing your pajamas, Narumi-san."

Unable to resist due to another coughing fit, Ayumu let himself be seated, rather forcefully, on the couch, and watched as various items - jacket, shoes, books, and grocery bags - fell off Hiyono and onto the floor. She gathered the grocery bags and set them on the kitchen counter, leaving everything else in a heap. Ayumu might have protested, but he was far more concerned with the contents of those bags and what Hiyono intended to do with them in his kitchen.

"Stop," he said. "I don't want you doing that."

There were no dishes anywhere, no crumbs, no signs of meals having been prepared. Hiyono swivelled around and met his glare straight on with an accusing gleam in her own gaze. "Narumi-san, have you eaten at all today?"

"Stay out of my kitchen," he tried to say, but his coughs intercept him again.

"You haven't, have you? Mou! Narumi-san, honestly, I thought you could take care of yourself better than this!"

"I was -" he wheezed, eyes watering, "-sleeping."

"Well, that's fine," she said, turning her attention to the counter again. To his alarm she began taking out distinctly ingredient-like things out of the bags - a container of eggs, some milk, a package of seaweed, and, inexplicably, a few boxes of pocky. "Narumi-san can go back to sleep, I'll take care of everything here."

He didn't think someone like Hiyono should say something like that with such confidence while standing in a kitchen. Especially not his kitchen.

"I shouldn't have opened the door," he sighed.

She made a face at him over her shoulder, one that clearly said she was going to let that comment pass because he was too ill to know better. He wondered if he didn't prefer a shower of punches, or a lecture on how to properly show gratitude. Of course, none of that was as bad as Hiyono in his kitchen. Which was happening. And he didn't have the well-being of spirit or body to put a stop to it.

"I would have been here sooner," she started to say, turning on the stove (he winced at the sound), "but I had to stop by the supermarket. Oh, and I have Narumi-san's homework in my bag. Your class representative was nice enough to bring it to the clubroom at lunchtime."

He shut his eyes and muttered something to the ceiling. It was a gesture that someone who didn't know him well might have imagined was prayer. He snapped them back open again a few minutes later.

"What are you doing?"

"Okayu!" Hiyono replied brightly, "Just what Narumi-san needs! A good meal to restore your strength."

It was too late to stop her, and rice congee seemed like a simple enough dish that even Hiyono could make without much difficulty. Probably. He hoped.

Hiyono spent the next half-hour industriously beating eggs, stirring viciously, and generally chatting away about various things that Ayumu occasionally responded to over the lull of the tv, which he'd switched on to distract him from the disconcerting knowledge that he might end up poisoned before nightfall.

"It's ready!"

When she thrust the steaming bowl in front of him, Ayumu summoned as much dismay into his expression as he possibly could, to let her know that this was a one-time deal.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Unless Narumi-san is feeling too sick and would rather I feed -"

He snorted and took the bowl from her. Though, disturbingly... the idea had some appeal to it... but he chalked that down to the slight fever he was running addling up his brain. That would also explain why he was having trouble keeping track of what was happening on the sports program he was half-heartedly watching.

Hiyono was watching him expectantly, and lest she decide she really did have to spoon feed him, Ayumu gingerly lifted a spoonful of the thick gruel to his mouth and -

"How is it?" she asked, beaming eagerly.

He silently ate another spoonful.

"I knew it!" Hiyono exclaimed, grinning widely. "It's delicious, isn't it, Narumi-san? I knew it would be, food is always delicious when you make it with loving, gentle hands -"

"You put too much salt," he informed her.

Her face fell and she slumped back onto the couch. Pouting, she demanded, "Why is Narumi-san still eating it, then?"

"Because I'm hungry."

The programming on the TV switched over to an American sitcom that aired nightly, and the first laugh-track of the evening sounded through the apartment. Hiyono curled up on the cushions and tucked her feet under her knees, studying him keenly as she did so. Ayumu's brow wrinkled of its own accord, but he chose to bear the uncomfortable scrutiny in silence. Hiyono made a small noise - so soft that it was just exhaling, really - but there was a resigned edge to it, like a sigh. She had taken to doing that a lot lately, when she wasn't talking his ear off.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, sitting straight up. "I forgot!"

"What?"

"I forgot to bring medicine!" she said crossly, slapping her own forehead. "I'm sorry, Narumi-san!"

"I'll sleep it off,"he shrugged. Ayumu threw her a dry look. "If you ever go home and leave me alone, that is."

"Narumi-san is always alone," she declared suddenly and matter-of-factly. Something akin to fierceness in her eyes surprised him. "It's awful."

"It's peaceful," he said thickly, around a mouthful of congee, and ended up choking for his efforts. Hiyono hastily grabbed some tissues and handed him one. He didn't expect the hand that ran soothingly up and down his back. It was a simple, kind gesture, the kind Hiyono was terribly good at springing on him and startling him with. The kindness always surprised him.

Now that he had started coughing, it didn't seem to want to go away.

The concern in her eyes, as she hovered over him, still stroking his back, was almost touching, if Ayumu were given to being touched. His cough subsided, but his stomach chose to lurch unfortunately at that very moment. Vertigo returned and Ayumu leaned back as Hiyono took the bowl away from him with one hand, the other clutching his arm.

"I can't possibly go home," she said worriedly, "Not when Narumi-san's like this."

His head was still spinning but he opened his mouth to tell her something, he wasn't quite sure what, just that it should be something to put her mind at ease, but -

"Ne, Narumi-san?" She was biting her lip. "I think we need to call a doctor-"

"I don't need a doctor..." he said, trying to focus his train of thought on what he had been trying to say, but the words were slippery and vanished, half-formed, from his grasp. "I..."

He shook his head to clear the dizziness but it wouldn't dispel. The effort made him sweat. His head felt strange, heavy and imbalanced - it might have dipped forward, but for the hand that suddenly clamped onto his forehead, pushing his damp hair aside. In the background, the tv screen was a blur of coloured lights and nonsensical dialogue.

"Narumi-san," he heard her gasp, "You have a fever!"

No, he thought deliriously, that wasn't it. I... what were the words again? The underlined ones? They had been pointed out because they were important. This he was sure of. He was grateful for her love and kindness and- and what? He tried to remember.

Her hand was pressing itself all over his face, frantic, and the words kept circling in his head, He was grateful for her love and kindness and-

"I'm..." he managed to say, before his head dropped onto her shoulder and sleep dragged him under again.

----

A beam of sunlight and something soft brushing against his cheek drew Ayumu from a dream of sparse, grassy fields. He lay still as consciousness came to him, slowly becoming aware that he was not in bed, and that the softness that had touched his face was a hand, and that the hand was, likely, attached to the body he was currently using as a pillow.

He opened his eyes slowly. The blurry sight of a knee greeted him. As his vision adjusted to the brightly lit living room, he noticed that it was distinctively feminine, and that there was quite a stretch of exposed skin between it and the hem of a pleated grey skirt.

Now he was definitely awake, which meant he was somewhat embarrassingly aware of the fact that his right hand was bunched up in the skirt, and that his face was nestled against the humming warmth of Hiyono's stomach, rising slightly with each languid breath. She was sleeping, too, he surmised. Ayumu blinked; the hand resting on his head had shifted suddenly, sending his hair into his eyes and obscuring his vision.

There was a light rustling of fabric, and he felt the faint tremble of abdominal muscles against his ear as Hiyono woke and lifted her head. She froze immediately, and her breath caught, hand snatched away. He heard her gasp, and guessed that she had looked at her wristwatch. It had to be at least 8 AM, by now, judging from how bright it was.

She was, he knew, biting her lip and considering her options. In the end, he doubted that any amount of pity or concern for his now dissippated fever could actually keep her from attending school. He was proved correct by her subsequent attempts to delicately extricate herself out from under him.

Acting on impulse, he pretended to toss in his sleep and rolled over, effectively rendering Hiyono's efforts up to that point in vain. She made a frustrated little noise in response, at which he was hard pressed to suppress the smirk lurking dangerously beneath the carefully kept blank surface of his face.

Hiyono sighed. "If I didn't know better..."

She left the sentence unfinished, which left him strangely bemused. But that thought was burnt away by the sensation of her fingertips brushing back the hair covering his eyes. She pressed her palm flat against his forehead. He admitted that it was a nice feeling: her hand was pleasantly cool on his skin.

"Thank goodness," she murmured, and lifted her hand gently away.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Ayumu thought he should move, stop pretending, but he didn't. The clock ticked in the background. Hiyono was definitely going to be late at this rate. He knew he was edging into shameless jerk territory now; she had, after all, specifically come over to take care of him while he was ill. She'd cooked for him - it was the thought that counted with that part - and had even let him sleep with his head on her lap all night. It occurred to him that the position couldn't have been comfortable for her.

"Narumi-san," she said softly, tapping on his cheek.

Ah. This was good, it spared him having to wake up on his own. He made an indeterminate noise.

"Narumi-san, I have to go to school..."

Ayumu grunted, and feigning the barest hint of annoyance, rolled off Hiyono just enough for her to slip out. He snuck a glance at her through his eyelashes, which he immediately regretted as it allowed him to catch the wince on her face as she stood, rubbing her knees. Rolling over again to face the back of the sofa, he tried to ignore the vague stirrings of guilt in his gut.

"Narumi-san?"

He responded with deliberately even, deep breaths.

"Being sick must have worn him out," she said to herself. The tenderness in her voice shocked him. "Narumi-san's usually such a light sleeper."

He didn't argue with this because he was asleep, but if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have argued with it, either. There was some more rustling and rummaging around as Hiyono gathered her things from the floor, where, to his annoyance, she'd unceremoniously dumped them yesterday.

She muttered something, headed towards the door - but here came a pause, then hesitant steps, then a hand on his shoulder. He sensed her bending over him - to check his temperature again? he wondered, puzzled - then, unexpectedly, a fleeting pressure on his cheek, near his temple, so fast it was not much more than a touch of lip to skin and a brief burst of warm breath.

Ayumu lay very still, listening as she let herself out, her pace quickening to a run as she headed towards school; listening until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore.

He rolled onto his back, eyes propped open, and stared at the ceiling.

----

To be continued...