Chapter Text
Adachi doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on his coworkers as he’s leaning down by the vending machines to grab his morning coffee. He’s always been aloof and quiet, a passerby in their corporate halls that his coworkers have never felt the need to lower their voices around. It’s opened up a world of mundane gossip to him that’s useless in his hands.
And perhaps that’s deserved. It goes both ways. Adachi has already decided to write them off as office white noise when he hears something that piques his interest, turning him into a satellite focused on the two men making small talk by the corner.
“Kurosawa sure had a rough go of it this morning, didn’t he? Late to the Ueno meeting and unprepared on top of that.”
Adachi’s hand hovers at the mouth of the vending machine, the cold can having already clunked its way to the bottom seconds ago.
“He’s lucky he’s so handsome. I don’t think I could’ve gotten away with a mistake like that.”
“Seriously! Forgetting to serve the client, I think they would’ve fired me for less. Is it true you could hear their stomach growling?”
“Yes.” The voice that’s speaking drops to a hushed whisper. “And it was so loud.”
“No way!”
Adachi decides he doesn’t need to hear any more of this, finally retrieving his coffee. He pops the tab and brings the rim to his lips as he turns to walk, taking in a sip of the bitter liquid.
“Adachi.”
Spluttering at the sound of his own name, he does the polite thing and shields his face with his forearm as he coughs his way back to composure.
“Asahina,” he starts, still a little out of breath. “Sorry, you startled me.”
“Apologies,” Asahina says with a practiced smile. The other man in between them, someone Adachi vaguely recognizes from a different department, raises an eyebrow. “You’re close to Kurosawa, right?”
Adachi can’t help it. Heat rises and pools in his cheeks. Before he’d returned Kurosawa’s confession, reminders that people saw their closeness and ease with each other made him feel bashful, nervous, like he was stripped bare and on display. Now that they’re together, he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s been caught doing something illicit every time their names are mentioned together. Their relationship is fresh and tender, uncharted territory he’s timidly feeling his way through. He’s still working on it.
“Y-yes,” he manages, choosing his next words carefully. “We’re friends.”
“Right. Has something been going on with him lately?”
“Huh?”
“He’s been little off the past few days, I thought you might know why.”
Really? Kurosawa? Thinking back, their schedules have kept them from walking home together all week. Kurosawa has been working late nights, and refusing Adachi’s help. He’s always smiled as he’s sent Adachi off though, felt so warm and safe with each tender embrace goodbye. Is something wrong? If there is, his thoughts haven’t given anything away.
Adachi realizes the flimsy metal of his coffee can is starting to dent in his grasp.
“Ah, no I haven’t heard of anything.”
“Oh, I see. Don’t think too much of it, maybe it’s just the change in the weather,” Asahina shrugs, leaning against the wall.
“Okay,” murmurs Adachi. “See you later.”
As he turns the corner, he scrapes a nail across the smooth surface of his coffee, pausing to note the imperfections he’s caused in the frame.
-
The first thing he does upon returning to his desk is pull up the spreadsheet with the numbers on one of Kurosawa’s main clients. He’s already sure of the data, he’s already sure of most of his work, really, but his brain is pulling him towards Kurosawa and this will give him a reason to cross the office space and end up at Kurosawa’s desk.
It feels silly, engineering an excuse to be close when they’ve already said their I love yous and gone on a few dates, but the thought of approaching Kurosawa just because in front of the whole office makes Adachi’s head spin. Maybe it’s more romantic this way. It’s not a work question, it’s a secret rendezvous, a charged moment in disguise.
He wishes he weren’t so nervous.
Spreadsheet finalized, he clicks a button and hears the printer whirring to life. He walks over to collect a small stack of papers, tucks them securely against his chest, and then approaches Kurosawa’s desk.
“Kurosawa,” announces Adachi on his arrival.
“Adachi,” Kurosawa breathes, face melting into a smile as he swivels around. Too pretty. Adachi fights to see through the glow, concentrating on the soft worry lines underneath Kurosawa’s eyes. “Is there something I can do for you?”
He holds out the papers, feeling shy as the shine of Kurosawa’s charm starts to bleed into the space around them. “I have Ueno’s numbers for the past month. Could you look these over for me?”
“Of course,” Kurosawa murmurs fondly, turning in his chair to face Adachi properly. He takes the papers from Adachi’s hands without grazing the skin underneath, which is unusual for him. He’s never one to miss an opportunity for a casual touch. Not only that, but he’s foiled Adachi’s plan to peek into his thoughts. “I’m happy you came to see me.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Adachi pouts.
“Then I’m happy you needed me to do it, if it means I get some time to see you,” Kurosawa says, effortlessly adoring. Adachi feels his face warming. It’s always growing hot around Kurosawa.
“Me too,” he says quietly, taking the chance to lean against Kurosawa’s shoulder as he taps the papers on his desk to straighten them out. It feels invasive, prying like this, but it’s such an easy fix. There’s a rush that comes with hearing Kurosawa’s thoughts, a small, sinful thrill that Adachi has become shamefully reliant on.
If he finds out something he’s not meant to know, he’ll deal with it later.
Ah man. I wish I could’ve touched Adachi’s hand. He’s so cute today.
Okay, Adachi thinks, breathing easier. Same old Kurosawa. He starts to ease off.
I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on these. My head hurts. I shouldn’t have come in today, but I guess it can’t be helped, can it? And I embarrassed myself earlier too…
Adachi frowns, pulling back, sitting with the sting of this new development. Kurosawa isn’t feeling well? He’s been working so many late nights— has he not been taking care of himself?
The poorly conducted meeting begins to make sense. It’s not like an ace salesman like Kurosawa to make such trivial mistakes.
“I’ll bring these by later, okay?” Kurosawa says, bright as ever. It gives Adachi pause. If he wasn’t able to read Kurosawa’s thoughts, would he have even been able to tell that Kurosawa was under the weather? There are so many things he has yet to learn about Kurosawa. This is just another addition to a long list, a race with a constantly shifting finish line.
“Sounds good,” Adachi says with a nod. There are other words on the tip of his tongue, questions withering away in his throat. It’s not the time. It’s not the place. He’d stumble, trying to explain himself.
His hand lingers starfished by Kurosawa’s shoulder, itching to give it some sort of squeeze. This view, this lighting, this room, this exact situation, he’s seen it all so many times before. Just not like this.
In the end, it feels too foreign. He’s a coward. He can’t do it.
“I’m going to head back. I’ll see you, Kurosawa.”
“See you, Adachi.”
Hands at his side, Adachi turns, the sound of his name in Kurosawa’s mouth echoing in tune with his heartbeat. His own empty desk in sight, he takes his leave.
And then Kurosawa sneezes.
Adachi swivels around, senses on high alert. He finds Kurosawa with a knuckle curled against his nose, thumb resting just on the edge of it. Gaze still unfocused, Kurosawa’s eyebrows knit, then quiver. His shoulders hike twice, and then another delicate, airy sneeze rocks him forward.
The first thought to cross Adachi’s mind is that even Kurosawa’s sneezes are perfect. Soft, polite, and unassuming, in total contrast to his. Befitting of someone so beautiful.
“Are you alright?” asks Adachi, hesitating at the edge of someone else’s desk. Kurosawa sniffles and blinks from behind his fist, giving Adachi a reassuring look. He waves him off cheerfully.
“I’m okay. All good. This part of the office must need cleaning.”
An uncomfortable wave of something descends on him, tight and twisting in his chest. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but if Kurosawa isn’t feeling well, then he wants to know. If it’s vulnerable for someone like Kurosawa, he understands, so he doesn’t want to feel low about it.
He’s been away for so long that by the time he gets back to his own desk, his monitor has gone to sleep, revealing his uneasy reflection. He taps a few keys, bringing back a half completed draft of a document, and then drags a finger across his desk, the rim of his keyboard.
When he examines it after, it’s clean. So clean that he can make out the ridges of his fingertips, the short, half moons of his nails, peeking out over pale skin.
-
A few hours later, Adachi is drying his hands after using the restroom. Catching himself in the mirror, he notices the flyaway hairs Kurosawa is always complimenting. He runs a hand over them, watching as they spring back up. Tricky little things.
There’s someone in one of the closed stalls nearby, probably waiting for him to leave. He hopes they won’t mind if he takes a few extra seconds to freshen up. He rolls a sleeve up and wets his hand under the tap, flinching when the person in the nearby stall starts to cough.
The bathroom itself is modest and tiled, the perfect environment for sharp, grating sounds like that to echo off of. He stays frozen, features pinching in sympathy as the coughs continue. Whoever this is, it sounds painful.
Slowly, he presses his palm to his stray hairs and smooths them down, taking care as if every movement of his joints carries the risk of sounding too abrasive. Eventually, the coughs die down, and Adachi silently apologizes as he presses a lever and tears several new sheets of paper towels.
The person in the stall sighs and gives a watery snuffle. Adachi decides he might as well take his leave and give them their privacy. They were already here when he arrived. He can’t help but wonder if they’d been there long, or if he’d accidentally infringed on some private ritual and they’d just been biding their time, waiting for him to leave.
As he pushes the door open, he hears the hushed crackle of this person cautiously starting to blow their nose.
He glances at Kurosawa’s desk on his way back, unsurprised when he finds it vacant.
-
“Kurosawa,” Fujisaki says with a small bow, “Have you updated those documents on Ueno for today yet? I’m sorry to rush you, but the president keeps asking for them.”
This time, Adachi does mean to eavesdrop.
“Not yet, I’ll have them done before I leave.”
“Okay,” Fujisaki says, “And I need you to report your expenses for the week, too. Sorry, it’s so much work.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.”
If Adachi’s desk didn’t naturally face away from Kurosawa’s, he knows he’d be sneaking glances, trying to see if he could discern any cracks in Kurosawa’s perfect facade. A twitch in his expression. A too short smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
There’s a gnawing suspicion that’s made a home in the back of his thoughts, an urge to pry where he’s not sure if he’s wanted.
He finds himself standing up, legs moving of their own accord until he’s switched places with Fujisaki. A beat passes and Kurosawa still hasn’t acknowledged him, so Adachi does the honors, leaning so that his chest rests on Kurosawa’s shoulder.
How am I going to do all this? My throat is killing me. So is my head. I should do the expenses first. That’s an easier job.
“Kurosawa,” Wanting to be mindful of Kurosawa’s health, Adachi speaks softly. He feels a little guilty when Kurosawa’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly taken by surprise. Just as quickly, Kurosawa’s crow's feet appear. His face relaxes into its usual charming smile, overriding his momentary lapse. “Did I startle you?”
“A little bit. Seems I was spacing out a little.”
Crap. That was so close! I don’t want Adachi to see me like feeling sorry for myself. But it would feel so nice if I could lean my head on his shoulder for a little bit.
Kurosawa’s thoughts meld into his, so heavy with emotions, desires, raw want that the office turns into the train.
They’re sitting together, thighs touching, and Kurosawa’s head is dropped down against Adachi’s shoulder. The surrounding passengers are gray and indistinct, unimportant, but the air around the two of them is so vivid that Adachi can hear the steady hum of the train moving along the rails. The sun is low in the sky, and Adachi is pulling him close with tender concern.
“Come here, Kurosawa,” he says, and in Kurosawa’s mind a thin glow frames him like a halo. Kurosawa himself feels pliant, breathless with relief.“You look so tired. Sleep on me.”
“Did you need something?” asks the Kurosawa in front of him. Of course his face betrays none of what Adachi’s just felt. “Oh, the Ueno numbers! I finished them a bit ago and was going to drop them off later. Everything was perfect. Good job, Adachi.”
“Thank you,” Adachi pauses, then shakes his head, studying Kurosawa’s face. He’s still smiling, but upon closer inspection, his complexion is washed. Sallow hues line his usually bright eyes, and the skin around his nose has taken on a gentle shade of pink. “I appreciate that, but I came over because I wanted to see you.”
Kurosawa hasn’t even said anything yet, but his appreciation is already threatening to swallow Adachi whole.
He came over here just to say see to me?! Adachi is so sweet! I love him so much!!! Just this moment is enough to help me get through the day. Yes, that’s it. I’ll just think of Adachi. If I start to feel tired, if I start to feel sick, I’ll think of Adachi and everything will be okay.
“Just what I needed.” Despite how he might be feeling, Kurosawa’s glow hasn’t dulled at all. Adachi swears he can see flower petals manifesting around him “Seeing you always makes my day better,”
“You always say things that sound straight out of a tv drama,” Adachi says.
“Just telling the truth.” Kurosawa reaches a hand out to rub his thumb over one of Adachi’s knuckles. It’s so simple. Adachi feels a sweet, flickering affection, his own this time.
Adachi’s voice sounds so gentle right now. It’s so nice. Fujisaki’s was starting to hurt my head, earlier. I guess that’s not really something she can help.
“Can we go home together tonight?”
“Ah-“ sheepishly breaking eye contact, Kurosawa hesitates. “I’m sorry, it seems like I’ve got some extra work to do and I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t want to make you wait for me.”
I won’t be good company. Oh, but it’s so rare for Adachi to ask first.
“That’s alright,” Adachi straightens. The lie falls out of him easily. “So do I. If we’re both going to stay a little later then it’s no problem. I uh-“ he stammers, remembering that it had been his idea to walk home together in the first place. “-would have tried to push myself, if it meant we could walk home together. This just means I can take it easier.”
Kurosawa stiffens, shoulders going rigid in contrast to the relief Adachi is teasing out, buried deep under his l nerves. The latest version of his smile is tinged with apprehension that Adachi only recognizes because he’s looking for it.
“Then I’d love to.”
Ah, this isn’t good. Should I tell him I’m not feeling well? I don’t want to get him sick. What if he doesn’t want to be around me anymore?
Adachi sucks in a breath, pulling back like he’s been slapped. His heart feels heavy, like an anchor sinking into the pit of his stomach. The image of Kurosawa’s desire to rest against him flashes through his mind, the overwhelming comfort enveloped in his daydreams is enough to make Adachi feel like he wants to cry. Kurosawa’s worries couldn’t be further from the truth.
Adachi blinks, fighting to keep his expression neutral.
“Perfect.” This is usually where one of them suggests they stop for drinks or an Izakaya, or to pop into the nearest bookstore. Anything to prolong the night. It feels awkward letting the silence linger between them, but they’re working late anyways, aren’t they?
“I’ll look forward to it then.”
“Me t-“ In the middle of his short sentence, Kurosawa gasps, shrinking away from Adachi to sneeze into his shoulder.
Adachi steps closer, creating a barrier between Kurosawa and anyone else in the office’s curiosity. People are speculating, he’s sure of it. Especially the women. The spotlight that comes with being the office star stays focused, even when Kurosawa isn’t at his best.
In the same, soft voice he used earlier, Adachi asks, “Are you feeling okay?”
With a dewy glance up, a deep blush begins to spread across Kurosawa’s cheeks. He nods, a healthy dose of embarrassment still visible on his half obscured face.
“You’ve been sneezing a lot. Maybe you’re getting a cold?” Adachi ventures, and Kurosawa sighs, neatly folding the fabric in his hands before tossing it.
“Something in the air, maybe,” supplies Kurosawa. He sniffs, “I’m alright, please don’t look at me with a face like that.”
“Right,” Adachi feels his stomach dipping. He can’t force a confession of poor health from Kurosawa if he doesn’t want to give one. “Maybe we can stop and get a nasal spray on the way home, if it’s still bothering you then.”
Again, Adachi catches a brief glimpse of surprise flitting across Kurosawa’s face before it collapses into a sincere smile.
“Okay. I wouldn’t mind that.” Feeling a little braver, maybe emboldened by the earnest way Kurosawa is looking at him, Adachi lets his palm rest heavy on Kurosawa’s shoulder and gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze.
Adachi’s worried face is so cute!!!!! I can’t believe he looked at me like that. So cute I could just die!!!! So cute. So cute so cute so cute socutesocutesocuteso—
Adachi withdraws his hand. He’s had enough. But he has to admit, the familiarity of his rambling inner monologue is a reprieve from all the unpleasant, confusing derivatives of concern floating around in his chest. Clearly, Kurosawa still has some energy.
He feels distracted as he returns to his desk, quietly curling a fist at his sternum so that even in the sea of numbers sitting in front of him, he can still track the heavy, rhythmic pulse of his own heartbeat.
-
“Getting up again? Must be a really busy day for you, huh, Kurosawa?” Rokkaku’s strong suit has never been discretion. Every conversation he has is usually between him, the person in front of him, and the entire office.
“Looks like it,” echoes Kurosawa with a perfectly executed chuckle. “Excuse me, I need to go pick something up.”
Adachi pauses his typing, glancing out the window at the fading sunlight. His shadow sweeps across the floor, superimposing a distorted version of himself over the tile. He strains his ears in search of another abnormality, finding confirmation in a faint, but recognizable, string of faraway coughs.
-
After the last remaining person has trickles out from the office, Adachi waits another half an hour before deciding it’s time to check on Kurosawa again.
It had been an agonizing wait. His workload for the day had been light— he’d actually finished hours ago, which meant that he’d needed to invent tasks for himself until everyone else had left. He could only play around with Excel formulas for so long.
He stretches as he stands, turning his head towards Kurosawa’s empty desk. Hold on. What?
He reminds himself that there’s no need to panic. It’s not as if Kurosawa has gone home. His details are still up on the white board, an eyecatch within all the blank space, just like Adachi’s.
Adachi winds his way through the empty desks and peers over the cubicle walls into the row where Kurosawa sits. As quick and devastating as lightning, a flash of concern strikes him through the heart and begins to crawl down his skin.
With a new urgency, he makes his way to Kurosawa’s desk and kneels down.
Kurosawa’s head rests in the divot of a folded elbow, his breath coming in deep, shuddering huffs from his mouth. His keyboard is shoved up to the base of the monitor, where the harsh glow of the company screensaver illuminates his flushed face.
“Kurosawa,” Adachi whispers, giving a gentle shake to a firm bicep. “Kurosawa, wake up.”
When Kurosawa doesn’t stir, Adachi presses the back of his hand to one of Kurosawa’s clammy cheeks. It’s feverishly warm. His nose has been running too, a thin gleam of it flashing in the light. It feels like he’s seeing something too private, something that was never meant for his eyes- or anyone’s.
Kurosawa’s eyelashes begin to flutter, a disoriented knit to his brow.
“Ada…chi?” He sits up slowly, a rickety, tender motion that squeezes at Adachi’s heart. With a small sniffle, he brings the cuff of his sleeve to his nose. “How late is it?”
“Not very, Rokkaku only left a few minutes ago,” Adachi answers, flicking his gaze towards the window, where the sunlight is growing dimmer and towering cumulus clouds are beginning to roll in. Their wispy edges are tinted gray, promising a healthy storm later that night.
“I see,” Kurosawa says. He pushes a hand through his hair, collecting loose tendrils of silvery brown that tug at the roots, spilling out over his fingers. A weighted sigh cuts the silence, and then he’s slipping sideways, forehead catching on the plateau of Adachi’s shoulder.
I fell asleep? How embarrassing. Thankfully it was only Adachi here to see it. When did it get so cold in here? My head is so heavy. I hope Adachi doesn’t mind.
For a brief moment, Adachi tenses at the contact. He’s not used to this version of Kurosawa, the subdued, hesitant one that isn’t confident in what he’s seeking out. This is new to him. It’s all so new to him.
“You’re not well,” he observes lamely, adjusting Kurosawa into an awkward hug. There’s a limp movement against his chest- Kurosawa shaking his head. “I wish you had told me.”
Instantly, Adachi is hit with a sickening wave of shame and regret. He falters, instinctively pulling Kurosawa closer to compensate, relieved when some of the hurt begins to ebb.
“Sorry,” Kurosawa’s words are warm, gathering a soft heat as his breath comes from Adachi’s dress shirt. “I thought I could push through it. It wasn’t so bad when I came in.”
Adachi frowns, remembering the gossip he’d overheard earlier.
Being where you were seemed preferable to staying at home alone. How silly. Now I’m causing trouble.
“Let me take you home,” he suggests, and Kurosawa withdraws from their embraces, a sheepish look in his glassy eyes. He has news Adachi isn’t going to like.
“Would you be upset if I told you there are some documents I really do need to finish?”
Adachi softens with understanding, leaning over to snag a chair from one of the nearby desks. He isn’t happy with this, but he doesn’t want to push anything. Kurosawa seems tender.
“Which ones?” Adachi maneuvers himself into his new seat, the wheels of the chair clicking as he nudges Kurosawa to make room for him. “Let me help you.”
Kurosawa inhales, looking like there’s nothing he wants more than to protest any assistance. Adachi watches patiently as his thoughts catch up with his head.
“Just the Ueno numbers,” he finally answers.
“Okay,” The keyboard grates on the hard plastic as Adachi retrieves it from where Kurosawa had shoved it out of the way, “I’ll fill these in, and confirm with you when I’m not sure, alright?”
Kurosawa gives a dazed nod, and then flinches away from Adachi to sneeze into his forearm
“Here,” Adachi murmurs, sliding the box of tissues from the other side of the desk.
“Thank you,” Kurosawa says. “For all your help.”
Adachi looks away while Kurosawa tends to himself, pretending that there’s nothing to notice about the gentle scraping of the fabric against the box, or Kurosawa’s pitifully polite attempts at blowing his nose.
He expects the work to be quick, but he finds that some of what Kurosawa has already done today is so riddled with small errors that it’s throwing the integrity of the whole document into question. It’s nothing he isn’t capable of correcting, so he begins the arduous task of poring over Kurosawa’s work from the start.
The streetlights have come on by the time he finally finishes up, glittering accessories among the rest of the city’s lights. Kurosawa has fallen asleep again, trading in occasional coughs and sniffles for feathery snores.
Adachi feels guilty for disturbing him as he shakes him awake for the second time.
As he sits up, the jacket Adachi had draped over him earlier slips from his shoulders and onto the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice. Adachi will have to retrieve it before they leave.
-
It’s late enough in the evening that the crowd filling the train towards Kurosawa’s apartment is thin. The seats along the edge are still occupied with other tired commuters when Adachi and Kurosawa board, so Adachi guides them to a space where there are two open handles for them to grab on to.
Across from him, two salarymen with features weathered from age and exposure rest their eyes. Another scrolls listlessly on his phone, too fast, in Adachi’s opinion, for him to be retaining any information.
The doors shut with an airy hiss, and the train lurches to a start. Kurosawa travels with it, briefly losing his footing and stumbling into Adachi.
For once, Kurosawa seems focused on the view in front of him rather than the glimpses he can manage of Adachi. His expression phases in and out of an anxious discomfort, and Adachi guesses that if they were to touch, he’d discover that Kurosawa is feeling sick. His mouth is pressed in a tight grimace, but they curve upwards when he notices that Adachi is looking at him, as if to say, don’t worry, doing fine.
Aiming to be discreet, Adachi takes a half step to the side so that Kurosawa’s shoulder is pressed flush against his.
I’m so dizzy. I don’t feel good at all.
Adachi glances up at Kurosawa’s white knuckled grip on the metal above, wondering if the slight tremble to them is just a trick of the light. He acts without thinking,
twisting back so that he can tug gently at Kurosawa’s sleeve. He hikes his shoulder in a question he can only hope Kurosawa will pick up on, doing his best to meet his boyfriend’s curiosity with confidence.
It’s not even close to the comforting scenario from Kurosawa’s daydreams, but it’s what he has.
Heavy pressure manifests between his shoulder blades. Kurosawa sighs, the ghost of his breath tickling the back of Adachi’s neck.
How does he always seem to know what I need?
“Thank you,” mumbles Kurosawa.
“Close your eyes,” Adachi instructs. “I’ll look out for our stop.”
-
A few steps out from the station exit, the waning sunset reflecting off the ornate glass that lines the walkway, Kurosawa pauses, braces himself against the railing, and starts sneezing. Adachi is impressed that Kurosawa has managed to hold out so long. Between their stop and the last, his thoughts had oscillated from how nice it felt to lean against Adachi to a creeping dread surrounding the realization that his nose was starting to bother him.
The last one is harsher than Adachi has heard all day, forceful and distinctly heavier, dragging a few raspy coughs out in a trailing finale.
“Are you okay?” Adachi feels useless, like the best he can do for Kurosawa is stand idly and offer him concern, but no real help, while the world continues around them.
Kurosawa himself exhales a controlled breath and folds his arms over his chest, poorly disguising his frustration. “A little sensitive to the air right now,” he finishes, sniffling.
That too, sounds worse than Adachi has heard all day. He can’t tell if it’s because Kurosawa is actually feeling worse, or if his safeguards are getting harder to maintain. Maybe those things are one and the same.
Ahh, I wish I hadn’t used all my pocket tissues earlier. I really need one. Adachi is looking at me with so much concern, and I can’t even enjoy it because I’m too self conscious about my nose dripping. I don’t want Adachi to see me like this.
He sniffles again.
“Adachi, would you happen to have any tissues on you?”
“Ah,” Adachi stammers, awkwardly starting to pat down his own pockets as if that would make one manifest. Of course, the magic he was granted is much less practical. He delivers the news with an apologetic shake of his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry, I usually carry some but it’s been getting warmer lately. Should we stop and get some?”
“It’s okay,” reassures Kurosawa. “I’ll manage. Shall we go?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to tell me the way, I haven’t ever come from this station before.”
“It’s not too far,” Kurosawa motions ahead, taking the initiative to start walking again. “We can cut through this park and then it should only be a few blocks. You might recognize the street as we get closer.”
Adachi frowns. Kurosawa’s voice seems to be getting thinner the more he speaks. There’s less ambient noise outside of the station, so he can hear the slight, uneven way Kurosawa pants as he tries to balance the conversation with keeping pace.
“I see,” Adachi says, taking in the expanse of the park's lamplit pathway. “I’m sure I will.”
He observes that the clouds have created a blanket over the city, edging out any remaining traces of blue. The trees are performing a warning dance as a breeze whips through the foliage, a reminder that the weather will soon become treacherous for someone in Kurosawa’s state. Should he stay at Kurosawa’s place then? Is that what a boyfriend would do?
Suddenly, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Beyond his desire to take care of Kurosawa, he’s out of his element again.
Kurosawa likes to hold hands, right? Should he be trying to hold hands as they walk? Kurosawa turns to the side to cough, and then Adachi has a new set of worries. If Kurosawa is sick, then would he still want to hold hands? Or would he find it rude? Do couples still hold hands when one is sick? Kurosawa still touched him when he wasn’t feeling well, so maybe… Adachi just isn’t sure.
A small gust of wind blows past them, causing Kurosawa to curl in with a shiver. Adachi, on the other hand, is starting to sweat underneath all his layers. It’s certainly not a good sign.
“Cold?”
“Just a little bit.”
Adachi furrows his brow. Kurosawa’s sniffling is starting to pick up, and he keeps taking these thin, shuddery breaths through his mouth.
“It shouldn’t be too much more. Do you… are you doing okay? You don’t sound good.”
“Ah…” Kurosawa runs a hand through his hair, taking too long to answer for Adachi’s liking. “Maybe I… could we rest for a little bit?”
“Of course!” Adachi exclaims with a frantic enthusiasm, spurred on by his surging concern. He grabs Kurosawa’s arm and ushers him to one of the nearby benches, almost flinching at the lightheaded feeling that washes over him from the contact. Tendrils of it lap at his senses, just out of reach, coloring the edges of his existence with the imprints of Kurosawa’s malaise.
He sits down on the metal and then supports Kurosawa’s back as he guides his head to his lap, concern welling in his chest all the while. He runs his hands through Kurosawa’s hair, keeping an eye on the uneven rise and fall of Kurosawa’s chest.
“Are you feeling sick?”
Kurosawa throws one of his forearms over his eyes and nods.
I felt like I was going to pass out if we kept walking. How embarrassing. I’m causing trouble, but Adachi is being so kind.
“Sorry. I need a minute. I think it will pass.”
“Don’t apologize.” Adachi shakes his head. He continues to pet Kurosawa’s hair, using his free hand to add soft strokes near Kurosawa’s elbow. “We can stay here as long as you need.”
He can feel Kurosawa fighting to tether himself to his touch. For some reason, it makes him so sad. I’m right here, he thinks, I’m right here.
“You’re the one who isn’t feeling well,” murmurs Adachi. “Think of your own comfort, not mine. Yours is more important right now.”
Tentatively, he walks his hand down Kurosawa’s forearm and leaves it so that his fingers are pressed into the inside of Kurosawa’s palm. Fingers twitching, Kurosawa grasps at what he’s offered.
Thank god. I didn’t know if Adachi would still want to touch me like this.
“You always see me in a way no one else does.” By now, Adachi should be used to Kurosawa’s affections, but this one comes with an ache. He’s cheating, able to feel Kurosawa’s vulnerability through the touch they’re holding, but there’s something in the way he’s said it that would’ve given it away regardless.
“You’re very considerate.” Adachi murmurs, “You made sure I had nothing to worry about when I was sick. You cooked for me, watched over my fever… I want to do the same for you, Kurosawa. If you aren’t feeling well then I want to help where I can.”
Kurosawa’s throat bobs as he swallows.
Why do I feel like crying?
“You don’t even know,” he whispers, “How much better I feel just knowing you’re around.”
“Let me do more than that.” Adachi says, gently prying at Kurosawa’s arm so that he can feel his forehead, confirm the expected, dry heat that waits for him.
Finally, Kurosawa peers up, green eyes fever bright and full of adoration, and then his gaze flickers. He struggles to sit up as he starts to cough. He doesn’t get far, but he seems determined to work himself as far away from Adachi as his body will allow.
Adachi rubs Kurosawa’s back in sympathy, guiding him back into his lap once the fit seems to have subsided.
Another sticky summer breeze ruffles past them, eliciting whispers from the surrounding foliage. He searches for Kurosawa’s hand to remind him that he’s not going anywhere.