Several thing happened on a lazy Sunday in early fall. Leaves turned to golden brown crisps and fell off the branches, birds sang happy and sad songs in harmony, and Ootori Kyouya over-slept.
Now, that in itself was not an unexpected event on weekends; the sleep-deprived brunette would turn off his alarms the night before and rest until some unwelcome sound rudely awoke him. Usually, Kyouya would wake up at around eleven, which was five hours more than he got on school days, but this particular Sunday his sleep-sand crusted eyes did not open until half past four, and when they finally did it was with a pounding, unholy headache (which made him immediately close them again)!
Oh, he was miserable; it hurt to move, and to hold still. His stomach roiled dangerously, sending pangs of nausea through his lungs and into the back of his throat, giving the boy the worst morning breath in existence. Kyouya's hand-sewn Egyptian silk pajamas were soaked with cold sweat, and his bed cloths were pushed off the foot of his bed when they were usually tucked in close to his body. And all of those things weren't going to change anytime soon unless he did something about it.
Begrudgingly, Kyouya sat up and then immediately stilled as what felt like vomit scorched the back of his throat. When it settled, he stood and the world spun. It, too, settled and then the Ootori slowly made his way toward the adjoining bathroom and stripped down to his underwear. Even motions as simple as that made him feel dizzy and weak.
Kyouya ran the sink and splashed cold water on his face, ran a few fingers through his hair, semi-conquering his tousled bed head. It felt refreshing, and for a moment he considered a long, cold shower to rid himself of the clammy quality of his skin, but he was unsteady on his feet and too fatigued to keep his eyes open. And then, as water dripped from his face, Kyouya reached for his first aid kit, located under the sink, and withdrew the shiny thermometer which he then shoved ruthlessly under his tongue.
Nerve endings pounded behind his eyes, and Kyouya clenched them closed, leaning forward, hands on the marble counter top on either side of his proclaim sink. Each second longer he stood, strength seemed to drain from his muscles, as did coherent thought. And then the thermometer beeped, jerking Kyouya out of his weighted daze.
'102.1 degrees' the digital screen read, and he sighed. He didn't want to drink water, nor eat soup, or take a bath or really anything at the moment. He just wanted to sleep again, and see if the fever had broken in the morning. Wearily, Kyouya dragged himself back into his main room, barely remembering to snatch his cell phone off the top of his dresser.
The Hosts were planning to infiltrate Haruhi's house for a commoner-made dinner, and now he certainly wouldn't be attending. Flipping open the top of the cell, he somehow managed to concentrate enough to scroll into his contacts and to 'Suoh Tamaki' before he began—slowly—composing his text message.
To Suoh Tamaki:
I'm not going tonight. Sick. See you tomorrow.
From: Ootori Kyouya
He clicked the 'send' button and allowed his arm to fall over his eyes, providing a quiet, dark pressure until his phone vibrated violently in his hand.
To Mommy:
D8 You're sick?!? What's wrong!?!? Are you okay!?!? Dinner won't be the same without you! Are you sure you won't come?! I don't want to be there with only my daughter and those two vile doppelgangers!!!
From: Daddy
"Idiot," Kyouya murmured, but composed a reply anyway.
To Suoh Tamaki:
Fever. I'll be fine. Have a nice evening.
From: Ootori Kyouya
And then he resumed his stance, arm thrown over eyes. His phone didn't go off for several minutes, and for a second Kyouya thought Tamaki had actually taken him at his word and was not going to send a return message when his cell went off once more, jerking the brunette out of an uncharacteristic doze.
To Mommy:
I called to cancel. I'll be over in twenty. Don't worry, Mommy, I'll make you all better!
From: Daddy
Arg, no...He didn't want to have to entertain the blond in his current state, nor did he really want to spend the time texting back to explain this. And so, Kyouya managed only a one worded reply.
To Suoh Tamaki:
Idiot
From: Ootori Kyouya
-
Someone was shaking him lightly, a cold hand against his burning skin, and immediately, Kyouya waved whoever it was off, attempting to roll over and finding it too painful. And then the hand was back, shaking him a little harder, and an angelic voice he knew so well (and at that moment despised) cooed to him.
"Mommy....Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyy~...Wake up, sleepyhead. I have some acedimedifin for you... Mooooommmyyy~...."
This time, Kyouya opened his eyes and glared into violet orbs and a smiling cherub face. "Tamaki..."
"My god, you are hot!!" the blond exclaimed, pressing a hand to the other boy's brow. "And you're sweating!! And you're just in your underwear!! Gosh, Kyouya, if I had known you were this sick, I would have brought a doctor."
This, for some reason, made him pissy. "Get the hell off of my bed," Kyouya snapped, waving a hand to ward off Tamaki's attempt to spot him with a wet rag. A deaf ear was turned on his demand.
"Here!" Tamaki shoved a glass of water up to his lips, and began to tilt the cool liquid down Kyouya's throat, although a majority splashed over the Ootori's front as he batted away the glass again.
"I don't want it!" The brunette spat, sitting up despite the pounding pain in his stomach and head. He glared at Tamaki, accepting the pills that the other boy happily pushed into his hand.
"Ah well. Look, Mommy! I brought the fairytale book that my mother used to read to me when I was sick. My favorite was 'The Princess and the Pea', but there are others! 'The Baby and the Barren', 'Mr. Fox', 'The Ugly Duckling', 'Cinder—'"
"I don't want you to read to me, Tamaki," Kyouya hissed. "I told you to go to Haruhi's."
"But Kyouya~!!!" The Suoh whined. "I couldn't very-well leave you all alone knowing you were sick!! What if something bad happened!?! What kind of husband would I be?!"
"Leave me alone," Kyouya demanded. "I'll be fine by tomorrow."
"Then I shall tend to you until then," the boy proclaimed, pulling a fresh blanket over his best friend and then crawling onto the covers and propping himself up against the headboard, book in hand. 'Don't worry," he cooed. "I used to do this all the time for Maman. I played piano for her, too, but it's too much trouble to lug one up here."
"Tamaki..."
"I'm also good at singing, if you'd like me to serenade you. It's how people always comforted me back in France—and I know the best teas for being ill. They make you feel full even if you can't hold down any real food."
"Tamaki..." Kyouya's eyes narrowed.
"Look!! I also brought these animes!! D. and xxxHoLic!! I've heard that they're really great, and I thought you might want to watch them while you recover."
"Tamaki!!"
"Or, actually, I brought some horror movies, too—Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Pathology. But we don't have to watch any of them if you don't want to. I don't want to do anything you don't want to—today, I'm going to concentrate everything I have on you and making you better! Now, is there anything I can get you?"
"Tamaki—"
"Oh, I know!! Soup! Would you like soup, Kyouya? Or water crackers? Can you keep fruit down? I'll make you a fruit smoothie!! Or perhaps just some fruit juice? What do you feel like?!? I'll even make you a chocolate cake if it's what you want! Oh, Kyouya—"
I am going to kill him! "Tama—"
"—You have no idea how happy I am that you are allowing me to help you through your illness. For a while there, I thought you didn't trust me." His voice deepened, and speech slowed. He became more sincere and serious, a tone that somehow demanded Kyouya listen. "I promise I'm going to show you I've matured—I know how to make sick people feel better, or at least I hope I do. You're my best friend, mon ami, and if I can't make people better, I hope I can at least make you...At any cost."
Maybe it was the fever, but Kyouya felt heartened. "Tamaki..." His eyes burned from looking up at the blond and the light, but his tone was low, warning, if not somewhat softer than the threatening voice he'd used before.
Tamaki looked down, smiling. "Yes, Mommy?"
"...Can I have soup?"