Convalescence
Despite her best efforts, Hiyono couldn't pay attention in math class that morning. Her head was crammed too full of other thoughts to spare any room for calculus integration problems.
Not to mention she was still slightly sore from having spent a night on Narumi Ayumu's couch. She hadn't minded, really, that he had passed out on her lap. She had even managed to fall asleep herself after an hour or so of staring at his flushed face, alternating between taking guesses at his temperature with her fingertips and helplessly fanning him with her hand. But the sleep had been of that careful, unnatural variety; akin to very, very still slumber on a narrow top bunk, motionless and unsatisfying.
As for the kiss she'd planted on him... well, that had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and completely innocent. He'd looked so peaceful, even the little wrinkles in his brow had seemed to relax, and she'd been unable to resist. She bent her head lower over her textbook to hide the blush she could feel creeping over her face. This was thoroughly silly. After all, taking care of a dear friend in need was only natural. Narumi-san was a particularly dire case: he had no one to take care of him now that his sister had all but completely disappeared. Hiyono felt, with easily conjured conviction (perhaps too easily), that she was now responsible for his well-being.
Thinking of that dear friend made her wonder how he was faring now. She considered requesting permission to go to the bathroom to call and check up on him, but she had already asked at the beginning of the period, and the class was nearly over. Just as the thought occurred to her, the bell signaling the start of lunch rang out, and Hiyono bolted from her seat, yanking her cell phone from her pocket as she made her way to the clubroom.
He answered the phone with a tired sounding "Yo."
"Hello, Narumi-san, are you feeling better?"
"Oi. You just called and asked me that an hour ago."
"Well, do you feel better?"
He coughed meaningfully, and she took that as a clear 'no'. "How am I supposed to get better if you keep bothering me?"
"Mou! Narumi-san is so cold," she said, drawing back from the cellphone to glare at it. To think, she'd be worrying about him all morning, and here he was, using that tone of voice! "It won't kill you to appreciate my concern!"
"You shouldn't get so angry at someone who is ill," he drawled, as airily as a person with clogged sinuses could sound. "I might relapse under the added stress."
She pouted out of habit. If there was one thing she wished for when it came to Narumi-san - and she wished for a lot of things in that aspect, secretly - it would be for a little more solicitousness from him. She didn't quite dare to ask for affection, or tenderness; but something every now and then, just one sentence would do, that was not filtered through sarcasm or an air of resigned tolerance.
He coughed into the silence on the line. "Shouldn't you be eating lunch?" His tone was dry, and she understood the underlying implication: whose bento do you steal when I'm not there?
"What about Narumi-san?" she asked, sure that she knew the answer.
"I ate the rest of the okayu."
Now that was surprising. He must have been starving to bother with leftovers - she'd never known him to not eat freshly made food.
"If I had woken up earlier," she fretted, "I could have cooked something."
The other end of the line was suspiciously silent. Had he fallen asleep? Fainted from hunger?
"Narumi-san?"
"Hn."
"What's wrong, Narumi-san? Are you sleepy? Is your fever back?"
"No," he said.
"Why are you so quiet? Does your throat hurt?"
"I'm appreciating your concern."
Hiyono's kuma hand - the one not holding a cellphone - twitched. Then, with that well-practiced sigh that was just a breath, the one she'd perfected so he wouldn't give her that look he always did, she said primly into the phone: "You're welcome."
"Hn."
It wasn't as though she'd really expected him to say thank you. She was sure he was grateful, deep down, and would let her know in his own roundabout way, as long as it didn't hurt his pride too much. For someone who constantly brooded over his so-called shortcomings, Narumi Ayumu certainly put a lot of effort into protecting his cool, impassive image.
"Hey."
"What is it, Narumi-san?"
"What did you say this morning? Before you left. I didn't hear it."
She frowned, puzzled. "I didn't say anything..."
"Ah. I must have dreamed it, then." There was a bit of static on the line, and a resounding click shortly followed his curt, "Ja."
Hiyono gave her cellphone a look of dismay before pressing the 'end call' button. Then she opened the clasp on her notebook and turned on the computer. If Narumi-san had been present, he would have noted the uncharacteristic manner in which she proceeded to ignore her untouched bento completely.
----
Once school let out, Hiyono hurried home to shower and change out of her wrinkled school uniform and into clean, comfortable clothes. Then, after a couple of necessary stops, she arrived on Narumi-san's doorstep.
He let her in without a word, clad in grey sweatpants and a black shirt, his hair slightly damp. He must have taken a shower in an attempt to clear his sinuses. The way he was sniffling told her it hadn't quite worked. She tried not to stare, but...
It wasn't that he didn't look good in his school uniform, which he did, a fact easily confirmed by the occasional longing glances thrown his way by various female classmates. And of course she'd seen him in t-shirts and jeans before. He'd always maintained a carefully cultivated air of carelessness when it came to dressing, leaving collars open and his school jacket unbuttoned, but even in that there was a certain methodic neatness to it that was missing now, thanks to the flu. Or perhaps he just no longer cared how she saw him. That was an intriguing prospect, one that Hiyono would have to return to and ponder on later.
He looked, for lack of a better word, so very touchable, despite the watery eyes and red nose, telltale signs of the flu. His hair was mussed in the most adorable way and there was a faint imprint of the upholstery fabric of the couch on his right cheek serving as a reminder of a recent nap.
He grunted a hello and went back to lie down on the couch. She left her things on the floor again - if it bothered him, he didn't say so - and flopped on the carpet next to him.
"Narumi-san, are you feeling better?"
"You're worse than a broken record," he remarked, not unkindly, his voice thick-sounding and deeper than usual. "No, I don't feel better. My head feels like a balloon and I can't breathe properly. My body aches all over, and my throat feels like it's on fire. I couldn't sleep all day, and when I finally did, you called me and woke me up. Twice."
She had never heard complaining so devoid of, well, complaint. He listed off his afflictions in the same tone of voice other people used while reading grocery lists. Strangely, Hiyono found this part of his personality very endearing, even if it couldn't be healthy, to hold so much in. It was what made him Narumi-san: the ability to meet with misfortune and take it headlong, combined with that deeply misplaced belief that he was somehow inferior. Anything bad that happened to him was, to his mind, only to be expected. She was filled with a rush of something she couldn't quite put a name to; only that it was warm and overwhelming and made her want to cradle his head on her knees again and sing him back to sleep.
Instead she stood up, skipping over to where her bag had fallen over, and retrieved her precious notebook. She beamed brightly at him. "I have just the thing you need, Narumi-san!"
He cocked an eyebrow back at her, picking up with one hand a cookbook laying facedown on the coffee table.
"I researched treatments for Narumi-san's symptoms!"
The expression on his face normally would have generated vocal offense from Hiyono, but for the lingering desire she had to coddle him. He started coughing again, so pitifully she couldn't bear to hold anything against him.
"Did you check your temperature, Narumi-san?" she asked, remembering suddenly.
"I don't have a fever."
She pointed out that he'd had one last night, and that it had also left him unconscious.
"That was last night," he replied, stubborn as ever.
Admitting defeat, Hiyono cleared her throat and began to read.
"Mix two tablespoons flour with one teaspoon of dry mustard and half a teaspoon of baking soda. Add one ounce of hot water in small amounts to make a thick paste. Spread the paste across a towel, fold in half and apply to chest." She paused, wishing her voice hadn't stammered at the end of that sentence. The thought of applying things to Narumi-san's chest brought a flush to her cheeks; Hiyono snuck a look at him to see if he'd noticed. He had the cookbook on his face, so she continued, "Don't let the paste touch the skin, it will burn -"
"I don't have any dry mustard," Narumi-san's muffled voice said from beneath the book.
Hiyono flipped the page, relieved (she was not disappointed). "How about this one? Melt lamb fat in a skillet and add one cup of boiled milk and one tablespoon of honey -"
"That's disgusting."
"It is, isn't it?" She agreed, scanning down the page. The rest of the cures she'd copied down didn't seem like they'd fare any better against Narumi-san in his current mood. Well, she thought, shutting the book, there was no helping it.
"You're going into the kitchen again," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. The cookbook slid off his face.
There was no need for that tone, she thought, shooting him a peevish look. But all she said was, "Yes, Narumi-san."
He turned back to his cookbook as she carefully began washing rice and cracking open eggs. Either he lacked the energy to protest or - she glanced at the bowl in the sink, that had been full of last night's okayu and couldn't resist the small smile that curved across her lips. Even if he'd only eaten it out of desperation (a little voice in her head asked but why? He could have just ordered something, but he ate it, which she ignored) it still made her happy.
Watching him scarf it down afterwards turned her smile into blatant, foolish grinning. She had learned her lesson and had not bothered to add salt at all, providing him with a shaker instead.
"It's more delicious today, isn't it, Narumi-san?"
"It's better," he allowed, grudgingly. It wasn't high praise, but she cheerfully accepted it nevertheless. There were a lot of snarky things he could have said, like flavouring being the highest art of cooking for instance, but he didn't. Still grinning, she collected the bowl from him, skipped back into the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes lying in the sink.
He muttered, under his breath, something along the lines of "you don't have to do that," but Hiyono drowned him out with a rousing rendition of her favourite ditty.
"Must you sing that strange song?"
"Narumi-san complains about my song," she said, "But I know you don't mind. It's better than silence, isn't it? It has to be better than being by yourself."
"Not really," he said indifferently. "I pretty much live alone, now. I'm used to being by myself."
And there it was - the illness worse than the one in his throat and nose and lungs. She was struck again by that aching realisation that he was alone, and if left to his own devices, would always be alone, running away from abandonment. It horrified her to think that a person would willingly subject himself to such a fate without putting up a fight.
Dishes forgotten, she moved back towards the living room, wiping her wet hands on her skirt. She inhaled deeply, drumming up the comforting words that probably wouldn't help, but were worth a try, anyway: "Wherever she is... Madoka-oneesan is worrying about Narumi-san being lonely, I know she is. She might not be here to take care of you, but -"
"I took care of her in my brother's place," he corrected, staring at the skyline through the window. The light cast strange shadows on his face and the frayed neckline of his t-shirt. "I worried more than she did."
"That doesn't mean she didn't take care of Narumi-san in her own way," Hiyono said gently, approaching him slowly. She sat on the coffee table and gave into that earlier temptation to touch him, taking his hand, squeezing lightly. He didn't pull away or react visibly. "That's what family is for. Letting someone else do all the worrying."
"That's selfish."
"No, it's not. You let the people who care about you do all the worrying for you and in return you do all their worrying for them." She tilted her head, and decided to be brave. He would understand. He was Narumi Ayumu, he understood everything. "I'll take care of Narumi-san while Madoka-oneesan's away."
Narumi-san looked at her and then away. He was silent for a while. Finally, he said, "It's going to get dark soon."
All the apprehension and the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding faded away, leaving a lingering regret behind. He was telling her to go home, and she didn't know how to refuse.
"I can't walk you home," he said, sounding tired. He was still staring out the window and they were still holding hands.
Of course she hadn't expected him to walk her home, not with that weary cough. She didn't usually require it of him, anyway, and opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke first.
"You might as well stay here." He met her eyes, gaze soft and uncertain under the resolution in his voice. "Stay and let me sleep, and you can do the worrying in the morning."
She acquiesced.
----
Hiyono continued to come over every day that weekend (though she didn't stay a third night), and by Tuesday he was well enough to attend school again. He silently cursed whatever gods or powers-that-be that had given him the flu in the first place, because Hiyono was becoming unbearable. There had been a certain level of comfort in her company at home, but at school she kept nagging, refusing to let him nap on the roof ("You'll catch a cold sleeping in the open! Narumi-san can sleep just as well in the clubroom.") and forcing him to consume health-boosting drinks with every meal.
And so the next week passed. By the end of it, Ayumu was perfectly fine, though one thing remained curious to him: Hiyono hadn't so much as glanced at his lunchboxes that entire time, let alone steal them.
"Narumi-san has just recovered," she said, with the air of a matryr, "It wouldn't be right if you went hungry. You need to restore your health."
"Hn."
"Is that all?" She said, hands on her hips and clearly disappointed with his reaction to her sacrifice. "I took good care of Narumi-san and that's the thanks I get? You should be repaying me with a feast!"
He was holding the book she had lent to him two weeks ago, staring intently at something on the page it was opened on. His lips were pressed together in a tight line - not displeased, per se, but... intense. Thoughtful. Hiyono wondered what part of that book he was reading. She was rather delighted he'd found something so gripping in it - usually he complained about how insipid the books she gave him were.
"Narumi-san?"
He didn't say anything after that, responding only in grunts and looks for the rest of the day. It wasn't until they were walking home together, approaching the figurative fork in the road where their paths split every day that he stopped and turned to her.
"A feast, huh?" he said slowly, meeting her eyes. "That's what you really want?"
Hiyono clasped her hands together disbelievingly, eyes shining. "Yes!"
"Then you can choose the menu," he said gruffly, thrusting the cookbook that had been dangling from his right hand at her. It was not a confession, nor was it affectionate or tender. But as with many things concerning Narumi Ayumu these days, it was far better than she had expected, and Hiyono accepted wonderingly but happily, grinning from ear to ear.
----
fin.
