"This is ridiculous."

A hum of agreement, sentiment for something I knew nothing about. Honestly, I hadn't been listening for several minutes now, though she appeared none the wiser.

No, Azumi was too happy with the warmth of shared heat, her body enveloped in mine on the floor. Ever the stubborn one, she refused the offer of my apartment when her heating unit went out, insisting long sleeves and quilts would ward off the chill. Not surprisingly, when I came for our lesson I found her curled atop a rug on her living room floor, shivering beneath a blanket. Sneezing, coughing, the faintest of fevers:

She did not find her cold amusing.

"Minamino."

I opened one eye though she could not see it, taking in that beautiful ear, the curve of her neck. Arm cushioning her head, trapped between her impossible heat and the sofa, I'd nearly nodded off. "Have we resumed a last-name basis?"

She huffed, which quickly became a cough. "Are you listening to me?"

"Always."

"Then what did I just say?"

Caught, I chuckled, pulling her closer. "Forgive me, love, I was lost in your beauty – the music accentuates it so."

True enough, the notes spilling from the turntable – slow and smooth, then speeding sadistically – reminded me of her in every way.

"Ugh, don't start. You'll ruin Chopin forever." A stuffy retort followed by a flurry of sneezes, tissue pressed to a reddened nose.

I smiled as she aimed for the wastebasket and missed, crumpled paper falling among so many others. "I could always take you to bed."

"Not on your life."

She allowed me closer still as another chill set her teeth chattering, arm firm around her stomach, both legs pulled between mine. Tucking the blanket so not even the faintest draft could enter, I allowed myself to relax, face burying in her hair. Yes, she was indeed ill: sickness mingled with her scent, as well as sweat and cough medicine. While part of me wanted to care for her, as I'd done for mother years ago, logic rallied to her aid, boasting that if Azumi wanted help, she would have asked for it. Rather, upon seeing me this evening, she simply stated 'come here' before pulling me to her side.

That was enough.

"Are you hungry? I could make you something."

A snort and her nape brushed my nose. "No thanks. I don't want food poisoning, too."

The barb held no sting, not when she was this pitiful. "I can have food delivered here, then. What would you like?"

Shaking her head, she squirmed, breasts rubbing against my arm. If she recognized the touch, she ignored it, stifling a yawn. Injecting myself with Suzuki's medicine before coming was a good call.

Yoko would have devoured her by now, otherwise. "You must eat something."

A muffled grunt – a smart remark, no doubt – and she was drifting off, breaths slipping into an easy rhythm.

Slipping onto the couch, I placed a pillow beneath her head, tucking the blanket around her.

Within moments, I was in the kitchen, dialing a familiar number. "Yusuke, do you still deliver on weekdays?"

September 2020 OTP Drabbles

Prompt 17 – Spooning