Sick
Even though Usagi-san had no problem telling Misaki often that he loved him, it was at times like this that the extent of his boundless, unconditional love was proven.
A weak, pale-faced, exhausted Misaki lay floppily in the centre of the sprawling double bed that he usually shared with Usagi-san. His petite form was propped up with pillows and even Suzuki-san had kindly left the bed to make room for the suffering boy. His sweat-dampened hair clung to his perspiring forehead, his long, black eyelashes clumped together with the remnants of pain-induced tears as he lay moaning pitifully, his trembling hands gently trying to rub away the ache in his sore stomach muscles.
Poor, wretched Misaki had spent the last twelve hours being violently sick, straining both his stomach and Usagi-san's gag reflex with regular bouts of heaving and retching, a foul concoction of last night's prawn noodles mixed with water and bile filling the bowl next to him and staining the room's stale air with its putrefying, acidic stench.
Yet, through it all – the gushing, the crying, the splatter of half-digested food against the plastic base of the bowl – Usagi-san never left Misaki's side except to occasionally bring him some fresh water, tending to his sick lover as though he weren't exhausted himself, not disgusted or repulsed by the deluge of vomit endlessly welling up from the pit of Misaki's tender, violated stomach. He whispered soothing words to the boy as he wept, held his brown locks back from his face whenever he felt the need to bend back over the bowl, rubbed his back and mopped his mouth and chin.
And when it was finally over, and Misaki seemed to have rid his body of everything he could, Usagi-san cradled the boy in his arms, kissed the top of his messy, matted hair, and continued to love him in sickness and in health.
A.N. Bit gross, sorry :D Hope you enjoyed anyway!
