Winter daylight.
Not too hot, not too cold.
The early afternoon sunlight filtered softly through the thin curtains of Kamiko's room.
Within its glow, Kamiko sat hunched over her bed, her nimble hands working meticulously on a red panda plushie.
The plushie was nearly finished. Saffron orange body and back; umber brown limbs and paws; white, triangular ears with matching eyebrows; plastic black dots for eyes; complete with a dark button nose and cutesy smile. The final touches were just some support stitches and affixing the ringed tailpiece to the rest of the animal. Yet, a nagging discomfort plagued her: each stitch was accompanied by a dull ache that made her wince. She reached for her thermos, taking a slow, deliberate sip of the hot water, hoping to soothe the irritation that seemed to grow worse with each passing moment.
As the minutes ticked by, though, the discomfort in Kamiko's throat evolved into a more profound sense of fatigue. The once-pleasant task of sewing became increasingly burdensome. Soon, she found herself struggling to keep her eyes open; the vibrant colors of the fabric blurred into swirls and gradients as her vision wavered. Invisible iron weights were attached to her limbs, dragging her down until even the needle between her fingers felt as heavy as a sword. Blood raced through her head so fast that her head throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She shook her head, trying to dissipate the growing weariness. Finish the plushie, she reminded herself.
But that was much easier said than done.
The bedroom - which had seemed inviting and cozy earlier - now felt stifling and oppressive. Kamiko's breathing became shallow and uneven, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably in her position on the bed. The steady, methodical pattern of the needle now seemed to amplify the pounding in her temples. She rubbed her eyes, hoping to clear the fog that had settled over senses, but the effort only made her more tired.
A deep sigh escaped her lips as she looked at the nearly-finished plushie. The simple task of finishing the final stitches suddenly felt overwhelming. Kamiko paused, setting down the needle and thread on the nightstand with a resigned movement. Her eyelids drooped, and she fought to keep them open, but the exhaustion was relentless. "What is happening to me?" she murmured to no one but herself. Not that she expected a verbal response. Her body gave one to her in no unclear terms. It demanded rest with an insistent urgency that she could no longer ignore.
Kamiko took one last look at her surroundings, noting the now late afternoon light casting long shadows on the walls while gleaming gold on the small chandelier. Sparkles danced off the glass crystals, casting a mystical aura everywhere. She would have appreciated it, were she in a better mood.
Currently, the comforting embrace of her bed seemed to call to her with an irresistible allure. Practically inviting her to dive into the covers and slip into the sea of dreams, never to resurface. She carefully placed the red panda stuffed animal aside, deciding that it was best to take a break. Standing up, her legs wobbled with each step toward the window. After pulling the curtains together, the walk back to bed felt like a monumental effort. The air was honey, and she was wading through the thick, golden syrup.
When she finally collapsed onto the bed, she pulled the comforter over herself, silently praying that a short nap would restore her energy. Her pillow was cool and tempting, a welcome contrast to the intense heat that radiated from her body. She nestled into the softness, allowing herself to sink into the bed's embrace. The magical light of the room blurred at the edges as she closed her eyes, succumbing to the ocean called sleep.
The next morning, the sunlight had lost its otherworldly quality.
Feeling utterly drained in spite of the sixteen-hour sleep, the light seemed to be mocking her. Harsh. Bright. And altogether obnoxious. Her condition had worsened considerably. A fire burnt in her throat; a clog was shoved up her nose; each cough racked her lungs with choking pain. Distantly, she noticed her pillow was damp with sweat. So much for an in-built temperature regulator. Red-rimmed and bleary-eyed, Kamiko tried to focus at the ceiling, which undulated and stretched endlessly above her.
Her attempts to return to sleep were interrupted by a sudden, forceful cough that made her sit upright, gasping for breath. Then a soft knock on the door startled her.
"Kamiko?" Her mother's voice called from the other side, gentle and filled with concern. "You didn't come down for dinner yesterday. And it's well into the morning now. Are you okay?"
She was too exhausted and miserable to respond. Rather, Kamiko pulled the covers tighter around herself and buried her face in the dirty pillow. The door creaked faintly as her mother entered the room. From the little bit of her upper face that she exposed to the air, she watched her mother's large ears twitch agitated. Making her way toward her daughter, Kamiko imagined what a horrible sight she must have looked like. Flushed face, crumpled bedclothes, and the perpetual lines of discomfort on her forehead.
Without saying a word, her mother walked over to the curtains and drew them open, allowing the full force of the sunlight to invade the room. Kamiko squinted against the brightness, hissing at its luminosity. The migraine resurged with a vengeance.
"Mom, please," Kamiko managed to croak, her voice barely audible over the congestion in her nose.
Her mother, with a knowing sigh, approached Kamiko again and placed a hand on her forehead. The coolness of her mother's hand was water compared to the fire that was the heat her own body was producing. Then a single, curt nod. "You've got the flu," she declared with a calm, practiced authority.
Kamiko attempted to protest, but the effort was futile. The congestion made speaking nigh impossible, and every attempt to argue was swallowed by a new bout of vigorous coughing. It did not help that her mother, undeterred by her daughter's weak objections, began to replace the bedding and pillow with fresh, clean ones. With minutes, the bedsheets were tossed into the laundry basket and a new cushion with a new covering was placed onto the bed. All the while Kamiko remained on the mattress. How her mother mastered such a skill, it was beyond her comprehension. Perhaps it was a mom ability, Kamiko figured. Just another enigma of the universe.
"Lie down, now," her mother commanded. She did as ordered. The movement of the cool, crisp sheets against her overheated fur was a small but welcome relief. Kamiko reluctantly admitted the new pillow was more comfortable, though she could not resist puffing out her cheeks in an expression of petulant annoyance.
But nothing escaped her mother's notice. "Don't be so stubborn," she chided softly, observing the grumpy expression on Kamiko's face. "You need to get better, and this is part of the process. Take some rest now. I have to get some groceries, so I'll be back in about three hours. If you find some strength in the meantime, then freshen up in the bathroom."
True to her word, Kamiko's mother did return in three hours. She could smell the freshness of the vegetables and fruits up the stairs, although their scent hardly did anything to stimulate her appetite. Sometime during those three hours, Kamiko had summoned just enough energy to haul herself to the bathroom and brush her teeth. Two-and-a-half minutes of cleaning felt like two-and-a-half years. And to reward herself for the enormous effort she put, she stripped her clothes and turned on the bathtub tap.
Ah, bliss.
The hotness of her fever compared to the hotness of the water was stark. There was one she preferred the most, and there was no doubt which one it was. Kamiko imagined all the sweat, grime, and sickness seeping from her body and mixing into the water. Finally, down the drain. She figured that while she was already in the bathtub, she might as well scrub herself raw. And so she did. The entire bath routine. By the time she finished, she almost felt like she had just come out of a salon. Almost. Because there was still the lingering fatigue and nose stuffiness.
Back to present time, the green fragrance had been replaced by the aroma of herbs and broth. Kamiko's mother entered the bedroom, a steaming bowl of soup on a tray. Kamiko peered at the dish and scrunched her snout in response. The herbal concoction inside the bowl was a vibrant green, and its smell indicated that it was a potent mix of medicinal herbs. So overpowering, it made her feel nauseous. She reached for the edge of the bed, clambering on top of it to ease the vomiting sensation.
Her mother sat beside Kamiko, holding the spoon laden with soup. "This will help you feel better," she assured. "It's full of vitamins and minerals, even if it doesn't smell the best."
She grimaced and turned her head away from the spoon. "I can't. It smells awful."
"It's for your own good," her mother insisted. "The green bell peppers in this soup are especially beneficial. They have lots of nutrients that will help you recover."
In response, Kamiko crossed her arms. Frustration evident despite her weakened state, she remained obstinate. "I don't want the peppers. They're too … strong."
She could see her mother's patience wearing thin. That long, exasperated sigh. Kamiko hated disappointing the person trying to help her, but even she had limits that she could not fathom surpassing. Namely, in the form of a biologically green fruit but in culinary classification a vegetable. "Kamiko," her mother said after a long moment. "You need to eat. It's important."
Despite her mother's best efforts, she stubbornly refused to open her mouth. The battle of glances between them was almost comical. Her mother tried various strategies to convince her daughter - from bribes and compromises to punishments and groundings. Yet her resolved remained firm. She turned her head repeatedly, avoiding the spoon with a childlike defiance. At some point, she even grabbed her pillow and used it as a physical barrier.
"Sick people can't be choosers!"
"I get a choice in what touches my tongue. And that capsicum is not going to be it."
"Just pinch your nose and swallow it. Problem solved!"
"That never works!"
Just when Kamiko thought her mother might call her father upstairs to get her to stay in place, the tension was broken by the sound of the front door opening. Two male voices echoed from downstairs. One was her father's, Kamiko realized. And the other … Izuku?
"It seems we have a visitor," her mother stated with a tone of satisfaction. After a single twitch of the ears, she set the soup aside and left the room to greet the guest.
Kamiko leaned back on the bed with a thump. Embarrassment and relief stormed through her mind, the conflicting emotions making her unsure of what to do. She and Izuku had made plans to go to the movie theater today. Unfortunately, in the haze of illness, Kamiko had forgotten to cancel the visit. Now, as she listened to Izuku's steady rhythm up the stairs, she felt the humiliation triumph over relaxation. Self-consciousness ached through her.
The door opened. And the first thing her sweet boyfriend did was go to her side and hold her hand.
"Hey, Kamiko," was the first thing Izuku said upon seeing his girlfriend. "How are you holding up?" He took a seat beside her. The flu had not done her any favors. Despite the citrus fragrance coming from what he presumed was her soap, she looked utterly disheveled. The bags under eyes belayed her exhaustion.
Kamiko managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry about this. And for not informing you. I didn't expect you to see me like this. By the way, where's your mask?"
He ran a hand through her messy hair. "Don't worry about it. About the suddenness of it all and my chances of getting your flu. I'm vaccinated," Izuku grinned reassuringly. "I'm here to help." He glanced at the soup on her nightstand and then back at Kamiko. "Your parents told me everything. Let's see if we can get you to eat a little bit, alright?"
Immediately, her muzzle curled in disgust. "If I have to eat the soup, can you at least take out the green peppers? They're making me gag."
Without hesitation, Izuku nodded. "Deal. I'll take care of the peppers. I'll warm this up, as well. But how do you feel about substituting the peppers with something else?"
"Like what?"
"Maybe Sichuan peppers." He watched her consider the option. Sichuan peppers were not actually capsicum-shaped or even part of the same family. It did not even taste remotely like capsicum. Yet it was a nutritious ingredient. Izuku pinpointed the exact moment when Kamiko made up her mind. She assented to the compromise. And without another word, he stood up and lifted the tray. Seconds later, he was out the door. The moment he descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, Kamiko's mother was quick to fire her questions.
"What did she say? Is she going to give up her obstinacy? Will she eat the soup?"
Izuku began fishing out the capsicum bits and setting them on a separate plate. "We reached an agreement. She'll have the soup as long as I eat the peppers. And to show her my sincerity, I'll eat them in front of her. Auntie, could you reheat the dish and add some of the peppercorn?"
The release of stress from her mother's shoulders was nearly tangible. Her shoulders, which had been hunched up since the moment Izuku crossed the threshold, finally sagged down. She took a long, deep breath, exhaling the last residues of worry. Then she let out a little snort of a laugh. "Next time I need Kamiko to budge off her stool of stubbornness, I'm bringing you to do it. You accomplished what I couldn't do: working absolute wonders on her psychology."
"Thank you for thinking of me so highly, Auntie." Izuku could feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck at the praise. He had not realized when he had become so close to Kamiko's parents until now. Almost like a fourth member of the family. And yet he liked it. He looked forward to the silent promise of returning again and again.
Once done, Izuku took a separate bite of the soup to ensure there were no lingering traces of the green capsicum. Satisfied, he carried the tray back upstairs. To Kamiko. Resuming his position on the bed, he held out the spoon to her. "Alright, it's all clear now. Let's give it a try."
The reluctance was still present on her face. But they had made a deal. He had honored his side; it was her turn to respect hers. With an audible gulp of courage, she allowed Izuku to feed the spoonful. Without wasting a second, she swallowed the contents without properly tasting the flavors. "I still don't like it. But it's more tolerable."
"That's more than enough," he replied with a kind smile.
Little by little, the bowl emptied. He found himself suppressing a laugh every time Kamiko grimaced at the dish going down her throat. Whenever she gagged, it was even harder. Rather, he encouraged her. "One more bite," or "Almost done," or "You're doing great. Keep going."
It seemed to work because slowly but steadily, the soup was going where it was intended to go.
Finally, the last dredges were finished.
"How are you feeling now?" Izuku asked, setting the empty bowl aside.
Kamiko, in spite of her discomfort, found herself feeling a bit better. The warmth of the soup, combined with her boyfriend's caring demeanor, had a soothing effect. She lay back on her bed with a deep sigh, feeling a renewed sense of relief. The simple act of breathing, which she had taken for granted, now felt like a luxury.
"An entire truckload better," she replied, savoring the feeling of her nose opening up. Izuku took Kamiko's hand in his, and she closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence. "Would it be selfish of me to ask you to stay while I sleep?"
He reached over and with his free hand, stroked her hair. "It would, but I will gladly oblige."
Her tail swished at his gesture of affection.
Before long, she was asleep.
Some hours later, sunset arrived.
And with it, the raucous nature of Kamiko's friends.
Since the onset of the flu, Kamiko had not checked her text messages. She had switched her phone off. And at some point in the group chat, all her friends began to worry about her. Even now, she had forgotten to turn it on. Which was why she was facing the consequences of her ignorance. The tranquility of the house was disrupted by the sound of excited voices and footsteps. Her friends had arrived at her doorstep, their concern for her evident in their hurried movements.
Echidna was the first to enter the bedroom. She immediately wrapped herself around Kamiko in a tight, enthusiastic embrace. "Kamiko!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with relief and affection. "You didn't respond even once. Just now we're learning that you were sick!"
Kamiko winced at the ferocity of the hug, but managed to reciprocate it with a weak smile. "Echidna … can't breathe …" Her friend quickly loosened her grip. Frantic apologies escaped her lips, and Kamiko waved each of them off. Slowly rising from the bed, she said, "Actually, I got some stuff for you guys. Belated New Year's presents."
No sooner had she mentioned the word 'presents' did Etsudo and Shirohana laser-focus their attention on a large cardboard box that Kamiko began pulling out from the bottom drawer of her dresser. Both dog and cat mutant eyed the box with great interest and then each other. No words were needed to figure out that each was waiting for the other to make a move before a full-on fight broke out. Kamiko already found herself resigning to the impending desecration of her room.
"Izuku, tell me when it's over," she murmured, kneeling down just enough to bury her face in the crook of his neck. "I only want to see the results; not the process."
The two mutants soon found themselves in a playful but competitive tug-of-war over the box.
"Let go, Shirohana!" Etsudo barked.
The cat mutant tugged harder. "No way! It's mine! Don't you know boxes are a cat's favorite toy?"
Etsudo was undeterred. "What the hell! You have an entire collection of boxes at your house. You've been hoarding them for years."
Shirohana, using her cat-like agility and cunning, managed to wrest the box away from Etsudo. "And this is going to be Polka Dot Cutie Container #672."
"You nickname your boxes?!"
Having achieved what she wanted, Shirohana paid Etsudo no mind. Instantly she began scratching and biting at the cardboard with sheer delight, her tail flicking with satisfaction. Izuku told Kamiko the tantrum was over, and both watched with amusement as the cat reveled in her victory. "Look at her go," Izuku chuckled. "She's having the time of her life."
"True. But not Etsudo," Kamiko responded. Indeed, Etsudo, who seemed to be contemplating murder with the way her stare practically bore holes in the back of Shirohana's head. "She'll be pacified once she gets her gift, though." From the same drawer, Kamiko brought forth another box, wrapped in star-themed paper and topped with a boy. Instead of properly telling Etsudo anything, she simply thrust the gift into her hands. "I know your mind is always swimming in the gutter, but try resurfacing for a little bit. " That was all Kamiko said. Best friend goals right there.
As soon as Etsudo tore the wrapping apart, her anger was eased. A wishbone-shaped chew toy. Utterly impatient, the dog mutant wrecked the packaging the same way she did with the paper, until the toy was free of its confines. And then the object entered a new cage: Etsudo's mouth. Fury quickly transformed into joy as she chewed on the rubber toy with a contented expression.
Meanwhile, Minato and Rin were engaged in antics of their own. Mostly, Minato. With the tentacle pads on the ends of her fingers, she suctioned them against each other to form lines and curls. An innovative form of sign language. At least that was what Minato said it was. To Kamiko, the motions looked nothing more than some playful gestures. The first expression Minato made was supposedly her sign for love. Four parallel lines. It looked like a jail cell. The second - which was meant to be fireworks - resembled a weaving pattern. She watched her octopus friend with a narrowed gaze, trying to decide how much of those motions were arbitrary and how much had actual meaning.
Rin, on the other hand, was busy studying the panda plushie. She smoothly entered the conversation, diverting Minato's attention toward Echidna. "You looked like you could use the help," Rin whispered, once both the girls began openly flirting with each other. "Any more of that finger stuff and you would have started questioning your own Japanese."
"Thanks so much," Kamiko breathed.
Rin shook her head. "Don't thank me just yet. I just saved your plushie from unraveling. There was a loose stitch."
"Oh my god! You just saved me hours worth of effort. I must've not noticed because of the fever."
Evening turned to night. Minato had shifted to show her camouflage skills. She changed colors and patterns, becoming nearly invisible against different surfaces. This display Kamiko found much more fascinating. The lively atmosphere brought cheer to her otherwise dreary day. No doubt she was feeling much better than she had yesterday. How could she not, with laughter and companionship echoing in the air? Curling up with Izuku on the side of the bed against the wall, she leaned into his side, letting herself absorb the comforting ambiance. Her parents had prepared snacks and dinner. Everyone filled their stomachs. One by one, her girl friends said their goodbyes and parted ways for the night.
Izuku was the last to go.
Standing up, he asked, "Once you're feeling better, would you like to reschedule that movie date?"
From her position on the bed, Kamiko hugged him and inhaled the scent of his jacket.
"I would like that very much. Will you let me take you out? To make up for being sick?"
"Getting a fever was not your fault. But I won't mind having you arrange the date. Good night, Kamiko."
"Good night, Izuku. Be safe."