For the first time in a while, Seiji gets sick.
Seiji said it was nothing, but the third time he missed the bowl, he held the egg up, eyeing it with a foggy suspicion.
"Shuuichi."
"Yes?"
"There is something wrong with this egg."
"Pesky thing, isn't it?" He comes around the counter and replaces it in the carton.
"You can try again tomorrow."
There was not to be a tomorrow.
At three in the morning, Seiji nearly shoved him out of the bed with a snarl.
Resting a hand on his forehead, it came away hot and damp.
Cities are at least good for late-night convenience. He doesn't buy out the cold and flu aisle.
"Not without me."
"Yes, without you."
His words take longer than usual for Seiji to process.
"You'll come back soon?" Scratchily. He bends down to kiss his head and Seiji's senses come back to him at once.
"Germs, Shuuichi!" He pushes at Shuuichi's chest with good intentions but lacks the strength.
"Can't—hurt!" He is successful in his attempt and takes his leave. Thankfully, a shift as the café alone takes up only the morning and early afternoon.
Appetite in fits and starts, Seiji pushes half-finished meals away in favor of intermittent catnaps. Never waking up quite rested, it is a bit like living with a ghost—fading, flickering, faint.
His temperature is the only thing consistently high.
Shuuichi finds himself on the couch more often than not. Their bed has become a twisted nest of sheets and pillows. But he gets up whenever he hears Seiji calling his name in the night.
And in the morning, it is easy enough to pick Seiji up and settle him down on the couch.
It's only a bit more laundry.
They should have known it would end like this. When Seiji's fever finally lifts, Shuuichi's descends.
"Seiji, go save yourself." Faintly.
How very dramatic.
He tsks. "What ever are you talking about, Shuuichi?"
Draping the cool cloth draped over his brow, he watches how Shuuichi's face relaxes and he drops off to sleep.