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Yuma was running very late.
He was supposed to meet with Maki to go over their group project at 9 this morning, but he’d forgotten to click save on his 8:15 alarm, so he watched 9 o’clock tick by as he grabbed the last things he needed before leaving the house. He slides in his last pair of earrings and grabs his keys off the holder, smiling softly at the small cat keychain Jo had attached a few days ago–a small calico he had painted, with Yuma’s name inscribed in the white part of its fur–heart achingly full with fondness. Yuma was already late anyways, so he quietly peeks in on Jo, who’s still sleeping soundly in his bed. Jo is usually up and around at this point, but Yuma had kept him up late last night watching new episodes of the anime they were watching together. They had cuddled on their shared couch until almost 2 am until Jo had shook Yuma awake where his head was resting against Jo’s bicep to move to his bed for the night. Lately, there had been something brewing between them, but they never talked about it. Jo was too shy, Yuma too stubborn, so they just danced around it, pressing the lines of what was acceptable for roommates to do.
He looks so peaceful in sleep, but he’s thrown his covers off at some point in the night, and Yuma definitely sees him shiver. His body moves before he can think about what he’s doing, and he softly covers Jo with his comforter before he can overthink it, and Jo sighs contentedly almost as if in appreciation. To avoid his inevitable overthinking about the casual domesticity of it all, he quickly turns and rushes out of their shared apartment, as if suddenly remembering he’s supposed to be in a rush. And if he hears Jo’s sleep-ridden, soft voice ask, “Yuma?” from his bedroom, and his heart pangs–well, that’s for him to know.
/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ
Yuma groans as he sinks into his seat at the bus stop, accepting his fate.
In his rush to leave after his essentially nonexistent encounter with Jo this morning, he’d forgotten his sweater. By the time he realized and went to turn around, it was already 9:10, with the next bus leaving at 9:15. Unless he wanted to be even more late to his meeting with Maki, he decided to just bear with it until he could return to the warmth of his apartment. He’d have to grit his teeth and deal with the biting wind for the day.
What he hadn’t counted on was the fact that after meeting up with Maki at a cafe, one of his professors would email him, asking him to come pick up the paper feedback on one of his essays, meaning he had to go all the way to campus. Once he finally did get back to the apartment, he discovered they were out of his favorite ramen, and proceeded to leave without his sweater again. Instead of warmer, the day got colder, even lightly drizzling rain at one point which was just enough for the chill to soak into his bones. By the time he did finally make it back – between waiting for buses and the fact he’d already been running late that morning – it was around 6 pm with a persistent itch in the back of his throat and a throbbing headache.
He thought he’d be fine if he just took ibuprofen for his headache as soon as he got home. However, as the night stretched on, he proved to be very, very wrong. By the time Jo got home from his part time job that night at 8, Yuma was shivering in his bed with what must’ve been at least a 101 degree fever. “Yuyu, I’m home!” Jo calls out from their entryway. Their apartment is relatively small in size so you can be anywhere in the space and still hear each other from the other room. Despite his current state, Yuma still manages a small smile at the nickname, remembering how it came about. I feel weird calling you just Yuma, Jo had said. It feels too formal, like I don’t know you at all. They had brainstormed nicknames for himself and settled on Yuyu, after a long debate about why Jo couldn’t call him “Yummie the roomie”. Get it? Since it rhymes with roommate? Jo had said teasingly. Yuma had almost given in right there because of how cute he was, but shot him an exasperated look anyways, making Jo mumble okay, okay. Yuyu it is.
“Yuyu?” He called out again in question. If he were a little more lucid, his nerves would spike at the concern in Jo’s voice, rushing to reassure him that he was fine. He wasn’t that lucid, though, so he just croaked out a “Jojo,” instead. The door to Yuma’s bedroom creaked open, Jo’s footsteps light in case Yuma was sleeping, his gaze full of concern. He hesitated to enter his room for a second (which Yuma thought was ridiculous, since Yuma had manhandled him in here multiple times so they could eat snacks together and watch their anime, or play Mario Kart) before seeing Yuma’s shaking form in the bed. As soon as his eyes raked over Yuma’s body, which was sweating profusely at this point, his eyes widened and his bag dropped to the floor. His hesitance from before was nowhere to be found as he hurried to Yuma’s bed, wasting no time in dropping to his knees at Yuma’s side. Yuma blamed the sickness for the little shiver that went through him at the sight.
Jo’s hand reached out to touch Yuma’s forehead, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at the way he nuzzled into Jo’s palm. He didn’t get sick very often, but when he did, it made him pathetic and even more clingy than usual. He and Jo hadn’t been roommates long enough for Yuma to get sick enough to be bed-ridden, so he was a little taken aback at the gesture. Well, he was more likely taken aback at how high Yuma’s fever was, it was hard to tell the difference in his dazed state of mind. Yuma only had two things in mind: a cool shower and cuddles with Jo. He wondered – he hoped – Jo would still let him cuddle with him while sick. The thought of being deprived of his soft, cool hands and gentle breathing had him letting out an involuntary whine. Yuma always loosened a lot when he was sick, too, unafraid to let out the noises or thoughts he usually kept to himself when he had higher inhibitions.
Jo, who had been rummaging through the drawers for a thermometer, whipped around at the noise. “Yuyu, baby, what’s wrong?” He asks as he comes to kneel again beside Yuma’s bed. In that split second in time, Yuma tries his best to crystallize the memory in his mind, saving it in his pocket for when he can think about it harder. Jo, kneeling at his bedside, calling him baby when he was normally a man of such few words–he was someone who preferred showing love and care through his actions. “Can you…” he starts, but lets the words die in his throat, hiding them with a cough. Shower first, cuddles second. “Can you help me to the shower?” He mumbles instead, voice hoarse. “Of course, of course,” Jo says, quickly scooping him up in bridal style, making Yuma let out a startled yelp. “I can walk, Jo, I’m not disabled,” Yuma murmurs, but there’s no real bite to it, as he loves being pressed this close to Jo. It’s normally Yuma who initiates, so he can’t make himself complain when Jo is the one to make physical contact first. Jo sets him down right next to the shower, mumbling a quick “I’ll be right back” and disappearing from the room, presumably to grab Yuma’s clothes. Yuma grins as he catches a glimpse of Jo’s bright red ears.
He flicks on the shower, adjusting the temperature all the way down to cool and letting the water soothe his feverish skin. He sighs in contentment as Jo comes back in. Yuma notes that those are not his clothes in Jo’s hands, and raises an eyebrow at Jo in question. Jo was flushed across his cheeks and collarbones and even down the column of his throat, coloring him brilliantly as he rubs the back of his neck murmurs, “I thought they might be more comfortable since they’re oversized. I can go get yours if you like-” He begins, but Yuma cuts him off. “These are perfect,” he says, snatching the fabric from Jo and dumping it on the floor beside the shower.
It’s sweet how Jo remembers how much Yuma loves his clothes, often stealing hoodies or sweatpants from his drawers. He even remembered which of Jo’s t-shirts and pajama pants were Yuma’s favorites (probably because of how often they go missing, only for Yuma to appear wearing them at breakfast the next morning). Without thinking, Yuma starts to slip out of his clothes, making Jo let out a small gasp and quickly turns his back to him. He’s about to leave the room when he says, “Wait,” and spins back around. He seems to have forgotten in the five seconds since he turns around that Yuma had, in fact, been taking his shirt off, and his flush deepens even further at the now half-naked Yuma in front of him. “What? Staying for the show?” Yuma asks, his brain-to-mouth filter not working so well. However, Jo averts his eyes and walks right up to Yuma–
And around him, to check the temperature of the water. Yuma’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. “This is too cold,” he says. “You’ll make yourself feel worse instead of better.” He pushes the water nozzles so the water is on the warmer side of lukewarm without being too hot to burn him, and Yuma feels his heart ache fondly again. Even in this Jo makes sure the temperature is perfect before allowing him to get in. The thought strikes him that he loves Jo so much it’s hard to breathe sometimes.
He supposes he’s been feeling it – when he hears Jo’s heartbeat while laying on his chest, or like this morning, during such small moments of casual intimacy – but it’s never come to him so clearly before. He tries to mask it in his expression as Jo turns back around to leave, embarrassment forgotten. Jo is used to his antics anyways, and would probably just write him off as joking again. Yuma tries, with more sincerity and his heart in his throat, “You can stay, you know. If you want.” He purposely waited until Jo was behind him, out of sight before asking him. Now, though, as Jo freezes, he slowly turns to read his expression. He wonders if his face shows the raw, unguarded hope that he’ll say yes.
“I…” Jo grapples for a moment, clearly torn. Yuma knows, in that second, that even if he says no, that moment of indecision is something Yuma can cling to in the future.
“I shouldn’t,” he finally says, and he almost looks crestfallen, as if he’s denying himself more than he’s denying Yuma. Yuma’s face falls, but he nods, eyes watching Jo as he explains, “I still need to change your sheets, they’re all soaked in sweat. And I wanted to have some chicken noodle soup ready when you finished showering.” Just like that, Yuma’s disappointment disappears. He wonders if it were any other circumstance if Jo would say yes, would go along with what Yuma wanted like he normally does. He hoped the answer was yes. “I’ll, um, leave you to it, then,” Jo mumbles, shuffling quickly out of the room and shutting the door. Yuma doesn’t feel embarrassed, really. He can feel how much Jo cares for him, and that’s enough for him.
/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ
Once Yuma is fresh out of the shower and bundled up in Jo’s clothes – he’d been right, the comfort in how they were slightly oversized was much nicer than being in his own – Yuma was feeling a lot better, his head clearer. Primally Yuma knows that something about Jo’s scent that cleared some of the fog and kept him calm. He could tell he still had a fever, though, both from taking his temperature again with the thermometer – 100.4 – and from the fact he still had a strong urge to cling. When he comes back into his room, everything is set up – there’s three full water bottles lined up on his nightstand, a steaming bowl of soup, and a freshly made bed. Yuma notices, though, the absence of a certain tall, awkward presence. He blinks for a second before leaving his room, calling out, “Jojo?” softly. He finds him in the kitchen mixing honey into a mug full of tea. “Hi, baby,” Jo says, and Yuma can’t help but bask in it. It’s a little self-indulgent the way he wants to stay sick so Jo will keep calling him that. He must have noticed the pleased look on Yuma’s face – Yuma’s sure it’s written plainly – but doesn’t comment. “I thought this might soothe your throat.” He continues as he hands the mug over. “Thank you,” Yuma mutters back, characteristic smugness gone in the face of Jo’s genuine sweetness.
“You need to rest,” Jo says as he guides Yuma back to his bedroom. He’s kind of addicted to how softly Jo speaks, maybe a decibel higher than a whisper, only to be heard if you’re paying close attention (which Yuma always was). Jo has no space to fill, no uncomfortable silences to confront. He just offers up his words when he thinks of them or offers up actions when he can’t. Yuma’s so hopelessly enamored he feels sick with it as Jo guides him to his bed to lay back down, this time in fresh sheets and clothes. Jo turned to leave as soon as he was settled, though he looked reluctant to. Before he can get very far, Yuma grabs his hand and asks, “Where are you going?” And, pathetically, he can feel his eyes getting a little teary. He doesn’t want to be alone when he’s sick. He wants Jo to lay with him and hold his hand and maybe spoon feed him soup. Jo turns and Yuma could swear he sees a blink of relief before he says, “Nowhere, nowhere. I just thought you’d want to sleep, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He’s still frozen in place, and his eyes lock on to Yuma’s hand clasped in his. Yuma doesn’t let go though, not this time. He has an excuse to hide behind now and he’s going to milk every second of it.
“Stay with me,” he says instead, pulling Jo’s hand for emphasis. Jo relents and climbs into the bed with him, sitting criss-crossed, which Yuma is stupidly endeared with. Wordlessly, he grabs the warm bowl of soup and offers a spoonful to Yuma, blowing on it gently before bringing it to Yuma’s lips. Yuma thinks about that a lot — how Jo naturally protects him, filtering the world for him so he only sees the good parts. Like reading a manga before Yuma buys it to see if it’s to his taste, or setting the AC at Yuma’s preferred temperature when he gets home so it will feel nice when Yuma arrives. So many small things like that added up to showcase the love for Yuma that swelled in Jo’s chest, and so many times that Yuma found it so bright it was impossible to fully ignore. Right now is one of those times, as Jo’s eyes glimmer with something familiar to Yuma, something along the lines of sickeningly fond. After feeding Yuma a few bites, he takes a bite himself, and Yuma can’t help but blush at the implications. He wonders if Jo notices. An indirect kiss. He certainly won’t say anything in case he doesn’t, but something in his chest hopes he does and did it anyway.
Jo finishes feeding Yuma the soup, and Yuma slurps down the tea he made. It’s just the way Yuma likes, of course. He hides his grin behind his mug as he sips the last dregs at how well Jo knows him. He caught Jo once adding his favorite anime to a note in his phone titled “Yuyu”. Jo was just like that – always remembering favorites, always knowing his regular orders without having to be told more than once. Finally, he lays down, pulling on Jo’s arm until he lays down beside him. Yuma wastes no time in cuddling up to Jo, pushing and pulling him until he’s comfortable. Jo lets him, as always. Yuma wonders sometimes if Jo even enjoys laying with Yuma likes this or if he’s just indulging Yuma’s whims, but then he remembers how hesitant Jo is to move once they’re tangled together, like the moment will dissipate. They lay there for so long sometimes that Yuma has to be the one to get up just so they can get food, or water, or any of their other basic needs. So, he supposes, Jo does enjoy cuddling with Yuma, after all.
Jo’s big hands rub his back comfortingly as Yuma lays half asleep against Jo’s chest. He can feel the steadiness of Jo’s heartbeat beneath his ear. Yuma has his leg thrown over Jo’s waist and his arms locked around Jo’s middle, always trying to push closer as if he wants to burrow into Jo’s skin and live there. (He does). Jo’s arms are loosely around him, still timid despite the months that have passed since this unnameable thing started growing between them. His body is turned lightly toward Yuma’s, his chin resting on Yuma’s head. Yuma’s always thought that their bodies fit together like the last two pieces in a puzzle. He almost doesn’t hear Jo as he asks, “What else can I do to make you feel better, Yuyu?”
His answer immediately pops in his head, but he pretends to think about it to give himself time to work up the courage to ask. Finally, he raises his head, doing his best to give Jo puppy dog eyes – he knows Jo can’t resist. Yuma knows the stuttered breath leaving his mouth has nothing to do with being sick and a lot more to do with being nervous as he slightly pouts and asks, “Kisses?” Jo tenses up, his eyes searching Yuma’s. Then, Jo’s eyes drop to his lips, where Yuma’s tongue has darted out to wet them. His eyes darken but he does nothing. Yuma won’t beg – he does enough of the chasing, he thinks, and if Jo really wants him, he’ll show it. The tension of the moment softens quickly as Jo plants a kiss on Yuma’s forehead. “I’ll tell you what,” he murmurs, moving to pepper kisses over Yuma’s face. “If you’re not sick tomorrow –” a kiss on Yuma’s nose, “-- and I know that you really want this –” a kiss to each of the apples of his cheeks, “I’ll give you all the kisses you want, okay?” he finishes, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Yuma’s lips. Yuma nods, satiated for now. As he drifts off to sleep that night, his last thought is praying for his fever to be gone in the morning.
/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ
The next morning, Yuma springs into a sitting position as soon as he wakes up. He feels as good as new, stretching his limbs out with a contented sigh not dissimilar to a purring kitten. Just to be sure, he grabs the thermometer from the bedside table and checks his temperature, confirming it’s good before he hops out of bed. Jo wasn’t next to him when he woke up, but that’s okay – Yuma was going to find him, and find him soon.
There was an irrepressible bounce in his step as Yuma made his way through the house, calling out in a singsong voice, “Jojo! Where are you?” When he finds Jo in the kitchen making breakfast, Jo’s smile is brighter than all the stars combined, humored by Yuma’s antics. It takes Yuma’s breath for a second, how delighted Jo looks to see him. He bounds up to Jo, running the last few steps out of anticipation. Yuma wraps his arms around him from behind in a back bear hug, both of them stumbling a little at the impact and giggling. “Good morning, Jojo,” Yuma murmurs, his face smooshed sideways into Jo’s back. He dares to kiss the back of Jo’s neck, at least where he can reach. Jo doesn’t say anything, but Yuma can see the goosebumps raise on the spot as Jo tries not to shiver. He’ll never get over how tall Jo is; standing like this, Yuma’s head rests between Jo’s shoulder blades as Jo stands at the stove. Yuma has to go up on his tiptoes to rest his head on his shoulder as he asks, “Whatcha making?”
“I see you’re feeling better,” Jo says in response. “I made some oatmeal in case your stomach was still sensitive, though,” he continues. It’s too early for this. Yuma’s eyes prickle at his sweetness. Yuma hums noncommittally and reaches his arm around Jo to turn the stove off, ever so lightly trailing his fingertips on Jo’s waist as he does just to tease. Jo turns in his arm, an obvious question – what are you doing? – on his face. The words seem to die on his tongue, though, as he registers the practically nonexistent distance between his and Yuma’s faces. With Jo facing him now, Yuma rests his chin on Jo’s chest, staring up at him. The butterflies in his stomach thrash wildly as he whispers, “We had a deal, Jojo.” Jo doesn’t respond, but instead slowly, so slowly, slowly enough that Yuma could die, moves his face closer to Yuma’s, moving him back ever so slightly for a better angle. He presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Yuma’s lips on the right side, like he’s picking up where he left off the night before. Then he presses another kiss to the left corner of Yuma’s lips, and Yuma almost whines impatiently but Jo finally connects their mouths.
It’s everything and nothing like Yuma expected. Jo tastes like seeing the sun after being inside all day, like hugging your mom in the airport after three months. Jo tastes like home, and comfort, and so many sweet things all wrapped up together it’s making Yuma dizzy. Jo is a careful but devastatingly intimate kisser, gently pulling Yuma in by the waist as he runs his tongue along Yuma’s teeth, asking for permission. Yuma gladly opens up to let him in deeper, always wanting him deeper and closer and still craving more. Jo bashfully smiles, breaking the kiss as he accidentally bumps their noses, making Yuma giggle for an irrational amount of time. He’s just so giddy, almost hyper as they break the kiss and he leads Jo by the hand to their couch. Yuma pulls Jo down by hand, making him bounce lightly as he sits, gladly letting Yuma straddle him. Immediately Yuma pulls him in for more, murmuring “as many as I want, right?” against Jo’s mouth as he does. Jo answeringly pulls him in, giving him a series of short pecks that simply drive Yuma crazy.
“Be my boyfriend, Yuyu,” Jo says suddenly. “I want to be the only one taking care of you. I want,” he cuts himself off by giving Yuma another kiss, “this. I want to do this with you, forever,” Jo finishes. His face is flushed, but his features are determined as he stares at Yuma. Yuma almost coos at how precious he is – Jo, who struggles so badly with putting his feelings into words, putting himself out there, peeling back the layers to let Yuma see. “Is that really even a question, Jojo? Of course,” he punctuates it with another kiss, “of course I’ll be your boyfriend.”
Neither of them know how this will pan out. They could break up in two months, or ten months, or drift apart slowly over even more time than that. But right now, wrapped together on their shared couch and sharing languid kisses and the occasional giggle, is enough for them.