Rating: K+ for mild language
When Ryuuji got up in the morning, his body was shivering. The walk to class went from ice-cold to hellishly hot and his replies to his friends' worries consisted of insistent, shaky mutters of reassurance that he was alright.
His seat was chilly as he sunk into it, forehead planted onto the cool surface of his desk. The background was a mute murmur and his breaths were magnified by the thrum of his heartbeat. Everything was hot and he refused to admit that the shivers earlier remained constant on his frame.
"What's wrong with Suguro?"
"He's stubborn."
"He's sick."
"Why's he here, then?"
"He won't admit it. Bon's like that."
"I told him that he should've stayed back... but he didn't listen."
"Suguro—ne, Suguro, look at me."
A noise akin a weak groan bustled at his tightened throat and he forced himself to lift his heavy head. His temple throbbed, the backs of his eyes were sore and threatened to drag out of his face. Bright blue eyes were almost painful to look into. "Okumura, wha' y' want?"
Okumura's face was too close but Ryuuji was set on ignoring the pounding that rattled inside his skull, eyes closing once their foreheads came into light contact. "You're burning up," was the mumble from Okumura, "you should be sleeping."
"I'm fine," speech was providing to be a very annoying venture, yet he gritted past it, mustered a glare despite it. "Back off." There was a rush of air and he was floating all of a sudden, "Wha..."
"I'm taking you to your room," Okumura's words were finalized, tail swaying agitatedly behind him, "let's go, Suguro-hime."
"Who the hell y' callin'..." Ryuuji realized that he was, yet again, in the other's arms. He stewed silently, unable to gather enough energy to start an argument as he was carried away.