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Jiro generally thought of himself as a strong person. He liked being a person that someone could look up to, someone cool and mature who would inspire kids like his brother had inspired him.
Which was why he absolutely hated getting sick. The thought of having all control stripped away from him— and feeling absolutely horrible on top of that— was awful. But since the universe decided it personally hated him (why else would it give him someone like Saburo as a brother?), he’d woken up this morning with chills running up and down his body and his head feeling like it was about to combust.
He hadn’t even done anything to get him sick! Probably. Well, there was that thing a few days ago…
— —
“I’ll see you guys later!”
Jiro waved to his teammates over his shoulder as he began his trek home, significantly worn out from his practice. They’d focused on conditioning today, which always tired them out. It was good practice, though, even if it left him sore the next day.
Humming as he walked through the streets of Ikebukuro. Jiro found himself looking at a display of flower bouquets. There were some gorgeous purple peonies bound together with a matching ribbon. Maybe he should get some for later in the week?
Before he could ponder for much longer, though, he felt something wet fall onto his hand. And another, and another.
It was raining.
Shit.
He hadn’t brought an umbrella today, and his house was still a ways away. Hopefully the rain wouldn’t get much worse, and he’d make it home without getting drenched.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The droplets began falling faster and harder, dripping off of storefronts and opening umbrellas.
Well, okay, never mind then. The world just really wants him to suffer.
And so, with nothing else to do, Jiro ran.
Water splashed onto his shoes as he moved, and his practice uniform clung uncomfortably to his skin. Cold wind whipped at his face. Jiro could feel his already worn-out muscles crying out in pain, but he kept going.
By the time he finally got home, he was soaked. His hair was plastered to his neck and forehead, and his clothes were heavy with rainwater.
Jiro stumbled inside, hurriedly shutting the door with a loud slam. A startled squawk came from the couch.
“Jiro, you idiot, did you really not bring an umbrella? The forecast said that it was gonna rain today!” Saburo said, abandoning whatever video game he had been playing and walking over.
“S-shut the f-fuck up, Saburo,” Jiro gritted out, the force of the words diminished through his shivering.
Saburo sighed loudly. “Stay there. Ichi-nii would be upset if you got water all over the floor.” With that, he disappeared upstairs, leaving Jiro to his rainwater-soaked misery. He tried to stop his trembling, but it was no use. It had become so forceful that Jiro was rocking side to side, like a ship caught in a storm.
Ichiro appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a towel. “Jiro, Saburo said you needed to dry off— woah.” His mismatched eyes took in the sight of his younger brother pitifully trembling at the entrance. “Here,” Ichiro said, draping the fluffy white towel over Jiro’s shoulders. “I’ll run a bath, you stay here and get warm, okay?” Jiro nodded, and curled up by the comforting warmth of the heater.
The rest of the night had been fairly normal. He’d bathed, reveling in the warm water, watched this new anime Ichiro had been talking about, and fought with Saburo over whose turn it was to play in Super Smash Bros. Jiro had nearly forgotten all about what happened by the next day.
— —
But now, in the present, the memory came back with a fiery vengeance, along with a splitting headache.
“Ughhhh,” Jiro groaned, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight shining in through his window. He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his head quickly shut that down. It felt like someone had taken his brain in a vice grip and was squeezing it. Fumbling for his phone, Jiro saw that it was well past 7:30, when he would usually get up. In fact, it was also hours past when his school started, the digital clock displaying the time as 13:25 PM.
Further down, a text from Saburo had been sent a while ago.
8:13
Little shit: Ichi-nii said that you’re running a fever, so we decided not to wake you up. There’s curry in the fridge. Get better soon, idiot.
Huh. Maybe Saburo wasn’t so bad after all.
Sitting up slower this time, Jiro swung himself out of bed. He shivered. The feeling of his clothes brushing against his body made him want to tear his own skin off. With great effort, he stumbled downstairs.
Upon opening the fridge, Jiro saw that Saburo had been true to his word. A small black container sat on the top shelf, and Jiro grabbed it immediately. The smell of curry wafted out when he removed the lid, and he finally realized just how damn hungry he was.
As he sat down to eat, he couldn’t help but feel like he was forgetting something. Something important.
His phone pinged again. Jiro looked at it, expecting it to be one of his friends nagging him about being gone that day.
Instead, it was a reminder.
concert at 14:30 <3
Jiro’s stomach dropped.
Ohhhhhhh fuck.
How could he have forgotten? He had been looking forward to this day for weeks. The day when his stunning, beautiful, amazing boyfriend would finally be performing in Ikebukuro.
And it was the one day when he’d gotten sick.
But he’d be damned if he let a cold stop him from getting to see the man he loved.
Wow. To say that with such confidence, that there was someone he loved and who loved him back? It always made his brain functions— at least, the few that he had— go mushy.
Also, what would Jyushi think of him if he missed it just because of a headache? He was stronger than that.
He had to be.
There was no way he was going to miss this. When Jyushi had told him about it, his one visible eye sparkled with enthusiasm and excitement. What kind of a monster would Jiro be if he disappointed him?
His mind made up, he took a bite of curry. He was going to that concert.
— —
The venue was loud, crowded, and really not helping Jiro’s headache. He’d thought it would have gotten better as the day went on, but he was quickly proven wrong. To make things worse, his legs felt like melted butter and every step he took hurt.
None of that mattered, though. He was here. Jiro’s heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Jyushi. Jyushi. Jyushi was pretty. Pretty, pretty, pretty… wow, that didn’t even sound like a word anymore! Weird. Jiro giggled to himself, drawing some funny looks from the people around him. He usually would have been offended, but for some reason, he didn’t care.
The lights began to dim. Fog filtered through the curtains, and a pipe organ resounded through the room. The crowd quieted almost instantly. Jiro’s attention snapped to the stage, nearly vibrating with anticipation.
A voice rang out, and Jiro’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice, he would recognize it anywhere. “Disciples of darkness! Allow me to express my gratitude to you for gathering in this humble abode. We, ArgoξOrchestra, shall ensnare you in a marvelous other world!”
Slowly, the velvet curtains opened. Several figures were silhouetted in the blinding lights, but Jiro’s smitten brain could only focus on the tall figure standing in the front.
Aimono Jyushi dazzled the stage whenever he set foot on it. His black embroidered suit vest was perfectly tailored to fit him, and the long military style jacket he wore seemed like it floated through the air.
The music picked up, leading into a fast-paced waltz. Jyushi sang of a dance under the moonlight, and the crowd was going wild.
Jiro felt completely rooted to the spot. He felt like he was only able to stare at his boyfriend, this godly man who decided that out of all people, Jiro was the person he wanted to give his heart to. When Jyushi had confessed, embarrassed tears sparkling in his eyes, Jiro had made it his life’s mission to always stay with him. He knew there was never going to be anyone but Jyushi.
Because really, compared to him, what did Jiro have that was so appealing? He was abrasive, loud, and failed damn near over half of his school assignments. Who would voluntarily love him?
Something wet dripped off of his face, and with a start he realized that he was crying. In fact, he felt such a strong wave of sudden emotion that it nearly knocked him over.
Is this because of the concert?
No, that didn’t make any sense. He’d been to a ton of Jyushi’s performances, and this hadn’t happened at any of them…
Ugh, his head hurt. What was he thinking about again?
Jiro felt like he was in a daze for the rest of the songs. The tears kept streaming down his face, and the world felt like it was tilting on its axis. He was discombobulated and confused.
When the band had played its queue of songs for the night, Jyushi spoke into the mic once again. “Thank you all for attending this fantastical night! However, as midnight draws closer, we must break this spell and send you mortals back to your realm. Fair people of Ikebukuro, I bid you all adieu!”
Somewhere in his consciousness, Jiro distantly remembered that he was planning on going backstage to meet up with Jyushi. Tripping over his own feet, he stumbled backstage, finding a door marked “Aimono Jyushi.” Jiro mustered up his strength and knocked on the door.
The door swung open. “Jiro! I’m so glad you were able to make it!” Jyushi said, his stage persona dropped. “You know, that was one of the best shows we’ve put on y— J-Jiro?! What’s wrong?!”
Jiro could distantly feel himself swaying side to side. He wanted to say something, but his tongue felt like it was made of lead and his ears were ringing. Colorful spots danced in front of his eyes, nearly blinding him. Since when was he so clammy?
Maybe… it wouldn’t be so bad to just… close his eyes for a moment…
He had passed out before he hit the floor.
— —
He was vaguely aware of the feeling of sheets against his skin. It was so hot, and sticky. He made a high pitched noise of discontent that he would have been absolutely humiliated by if he was fully lucid.
As if a blessing, a cool hand reached down and laid across his forehead. It felt like heaven. He leaned into the touch like a needy cat, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle filled with affection.
Jiro slowly peeled his eyes open. His vision was blurry, but he could vaguely make out a shape leaning above him. The figure’s long black and blond hair fell around them in a curtain, blocking out the light that streamed in from a partially obscured window.
The angel (which Jiro had decided the figure had to be) stroked Jiro’s damp bangs from his sweaty forehead. In a soft voice that sounded like pure moonlight, it asked, “Jiro-kun, how do you feel? You really scared me back there… why would you come to the show if you were sick, darling?”
Blinking dumbly, Jiro’s mind reveled in the fact that this heavenly being had called him darling. Oh, what had he done to be blessed like this? If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.
“I-I… ‘re you an angelll…?” Jiro slurred. He hadn’t quite figured out how to fully control his tongue, but he had to figure it out soon so he could communicate to the lovely man watching over him.
The angel’s face flushed slightly pink on the tops of his cheekbones. Jiro reveled at the sight. Was he dead, and this was some sort of heaven? He didn’t really mind if it meant he got to see this man…
“Jiro, what are you talking about? You know me.” Likely seeing the disoriented look Jiro was sure was painted onto his face, the heavenly being sighed. “I suppose it makes sense for you to be out of it, considering your fever…” He suddenly leaned closer to Jiro, and the younger man’s breath caught. “Allow me to introduce myself, my dearest. My name is Aimono Jyushi, 14th Moon, and I have the great pleasure to call myself your boyfriend.”
Every neuron in Jiro’s head evaporated. No way. There was no way. His face got impossibly hotter, not just from the fever.
“Ah— uh— wha?” Was the best he could come up with. The angel, Jyushi, his boyfriend, chuckled. He ran his fingers through black bangs again, before starting to stand and move away. Filled with a sudden sense of loss, Jiro’s delirious mind told him that he would die if Jyushi left him. His hands shot out to grasp Jyushi’s arm, and he tugged it towards his face, nuzzling into the crook of the taller man’s elbow. A plaintive sound of lament slipped from his mouth.
Jyushi gently pried his arm away, trying his best not to fall victim to his boyfriend’s watery puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll be just downstairs, dear heart. You need food. Now, try and rest. I’ll wake you when it’s done.”
And then he was gone in a flurry of black and blond hair. Dejected, Jiro slumped even further into his bed. But despite his cruel lover abandoning him, Jiro couldn’t help but smile. His foggy brain wasn’t processing emotions as well as it usually did, but right now he felt… warm. No, more than that.
He felt loved.
— —
Jyushi hummed to himself as he stirred the steaming pot in front of him. The rice simmered slowly, white grains whirling along with the spoon’s trajectory. He may not have been an exceptional cook, but he at least knew how to make okayu.
Leaving the pot alone for a moment, Jyushi leaned against the counter. A small huff of fond laughter left him as he thought about Jiro, curled up in his bed upstairs. Really, what was he thinking, coming to the show when he was sick? Jyushi would have understood. But that endearing stubbornness was one of his favorite things about his boyfriend.
…Still, he nearly scared Jyushi to death when he collapsed.
Distantly, he could hear the front door open, likely one of Jiro’s brothers returning from school or work.
Sure enough, the eldest and youngest Yamada brothers entered the kitchen, chatting idly about their day. Both of them stopped when they spotted the tall dark haired man standing by their stove.
Ichiro was the first to recover from the surprise. “Oh, Jyushi! Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be stopping by, otherwise I would have tried to get home earlier.” His expression changed into that of a hopeful puppy. “Is Kuko with you?”
Jyushi giggled. It was extremely sweet to see Ichiro, usually so composed, get so excited at the prospect of seeing his longtime crush. “Sorry, Ichiro-san. It’s just me today.”
“What are you doing here, Jyushi-nii?” Saburo piped up, the use of the honorific not lost on Jyushi. “Did Jiro tell you he was sick to coerce you into coming over? I wouldn’t put it past him to stoop so low.”
“Ah, well, not exactly…”
He explained the situation to the two of them, watching both of their expressions slowly morph into exasperation.
“Tch, that idiot,” Saburo said, once Jyushi was finished with his explanation. “Of course he would be so stupid to go to a concert while he was sick.” Despite the harsh words, there was a faint undertone of worry in his voice.
“Thanks for bringing him back here,” Ichiro said. Jyushi waved his hands. “It was nothing, really!” He bridled with the stove, turning off the burner and spooning some okayu into a bowl. “Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”
The youngest Yamada huffed. “Still. You really should get some credit for having to put up with him.” He began to ascend the stairs. “I’ll go wake him up so he can eat.”
When Saburo had disappeared upstairs, Ichiro spoke. “Really though, thank you.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Growing up… I wasn’t always there for him. For either of them. He and Saburo grew up faster than they needed to, and I think he has trouble letting himself take a break and rest.” Ichiro smiled sadly. “But that’s why I’m so glad you two found each other. You both lift each other up, and I can see in Jiro’s eyes that you make him so, so happy.”
Jyushi’s eyes filled with tears. “I-Ichiro-san…!” He threw himself at the older man, wrapping him in a tight, grateful hug. Ichiro chuckled and returned the embrace.
A small, tired noise came from the bottom of the stairs. Saburo led his half-asleep older brother into the kitchen. Jiro’s heterochromatic eyes cracked open, and when they settled on Jyushi, he lethargically stumbled over to where he was standing. Jyushi disentangled himself from the hug, reaching out a hand to steady Jiro, but instead all the younger man did was wrap himself around his boyfriend, clinging tightly to him. “Jyushiiii…I missed youuuuuu…” he slurred out, tucking his face into the crook of Jyushi's neck. Saburo pretended to gag.
“Feeling any better, my beloved?” Jyushi asked, stroking the black locks tickling his chin. Jiro groaned. “Sorta.”
Leading him to the table, Jyushi gently set his very clingy partner down and placed the still-steaming bowl of okayu in front of him. “Here, eat. It’ll help.”
Jiro turned towards him, and in a plaintive voice, asked, “Will you feed me?”
Jyushi’s face heated up so quickly he thought steam would come out of his ears. “A-ah, well, sure…” he stammered out. The dopey, blissful grin from Jiro, though, steeled his resolve. Sitting next to him, Jyushi took a spoonful of the steamed rice and held it up to Jiro’s mouth, who obediently opened his mouth.
“Ugh, he’s even more stupid when he’s sick,” Saburo commented.
Ichiro laughed. “Come on, Saburo. Let’s get you some food too.” Saburo immediately perked up, and hurried to Ichiro’s side to get his own serving of okayu.
Sitting here, with the sound of laughter and happiness filling his ears and the love of his life nestled next to him, Jyushi thanked the universe that he’d been able to have gotten so lucky.
Jyushi felt a warm feeling in his chest, and he knew it couldn’t be called anything else but love.