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It’s dismal enough, cooped up in Arisu’s small apartment with the blinds drawn on a Saturday afternoon, but the universe seemed to see it fit to maximize their malaise today, never mind the fact that they just solved a case yesterday.
“This is your fault,” Himura mutters, turning about on the couch to peer at Arisu carrying two cups of coffee in his hands. He sniffles and coughs, ignoring the look of concern on Arisu’s face as he sets their cups down on the coffee table. “If you’d only remembered to bring your umbrella…”
The umbrella in question’s comfortably nestled in the small container next to the door, dry. Arisu regards it with a scowl. “I tried to convince you to wait the rain out but nooooooo.” Arisu rolls his eyes and swallows, wincing. “No, we had to run through the rain. We had to get them ourselves first, nevermind Sakashita and Ono, who both had umbrellas with them—”
“Stop,” Himura groans. He lifts his hand weakly and ignores how his fingers droop—it’s really hard to care about anything but rest when his entire body’s like this, anyways, and at least to him Arisu sounds weird too. It’s not like they can do anything about it now except lie down until they get better.
Arisu at least gets to sit up… well. As much as head-on-table-eyes-shut counted as sitting up. Himura clears his throat and Arisu cracks open a lazy eye.
“Don’t you have anything to eat?”
“…instant noodles. But they’re so far away~”
Himura gives him one look, then to the kitchen, which was around maybe ten steps, maximum. “It’s right there.”
“It’s too far.”
“No, it’s not. Objectively.”
Arisu clears his throat. The cough sounds like it’s going through sandpaper. “I’m just as sick as you are, you know.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got one thing up on you.” Himura lazily waves a finger in the air.
“What?”
He relishes the confusion on Arisu’s face before he points at himself and grins. “It’s my birthday.”
“…no, it isn’t.”
“Wanna go check?”
Arisu squints at him and slowly gets up, shuffling over to the calendar by the door and taking a disturbingly long time staring at the dates and swaying. For a second Himura tenses as he whirls around and stumbles against the door. “It was yesterday, idiot.”
“You forgot,” Himura says, flatly. To be honest… birthdays weren’t really something he celebrates, especially his—he’d rather celebrate something more significant, like the anniversary of his first case or maybe even when he and Arisu first met. Apart from him existing, what was there really to celebrate on his birthday? He certainly didn’t birth himself.
Still there’s a little sting at the thought of Arisu forgetting, though that’s understandable—it’s been such a full day yesterday and it was his fault they didn’t even have time to think about things like that. He didn’t even realize that it was his birthday until he saw it on his alarm clock right before going to bed that night.
“I didn’t forget,” Arisu says, and that soothes the sting immediately. “I just couldn’t give what I wanted to you ‘cause we couldn’t get home in time. I wanted to ask you out today, actually, but here we are.”
Himura blinks. “We can still go out?”
“Yeah, and infect the whole community while we’re at it, yeah?” Arisu totters back, hands on hips, and makes a move to sit back down.
“Wait!”
“What?!” Arisu exclaims, eyes suddenly wide.
“You’re already standing.”
“…and?”
“We-ll, since you’re already up… maybe noodles?”
“Damn it, Himura,” Arisu complains, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Youuuuu—did you just make me look at the calendar so I’d get up?!”
“You’ll get to eat too,” Himura counters. “Besides, I’m so tired I can’t get up.”
“Liar.”
Himura shrugs. “Birthday boy.”
Arisu rolls his eyes, and slowly makes his way to the kitchen.
Himura watches him with half-lidded eyes as he cooks—ever since they first met, Himura had always found himself… transfixed on Arisu, for some reason, even over the most basic of things. From where he’s lying down on the couch, the lightbulb forms a halo over Arisu’s head, drowning his face almost completely in shadow, the silhouette illuminated and almost glowing. His clothes hang over his frame, loose, and Himura wonders if he was just imagining how thin Arisu had become—he might be, what with all their running and late nights and now a proper cold.
…it was kind of his fault that happened. How long had he and Arisu been together? Literal years, maybe closing onto ten? It feels like a lifetime ago. He can’t remember what his life looked like before flannel shirts and bright eyes and a ‘dumb,’ affectionate smile. He can’t remember what it’s like to visit crime scenes alone, to go through intense flashes of murderous intent without him to pull him out of it. He can’t remember being sick and having someone, anyone, who would cook for him, even if they were sick.
There’s a care in everything Arisu does, even in something as simple as cooking. He cracks the egg on the side of the pan, mixes it in the soup, and though that really should just be it Himura catches him adding herbs and what looked like some leaves to it anyways—unnecessary but would definitely make a regular ramen much better. He doesn’t go so far as to get something from the fridge, but considering how sick he really must feel… the extra effort isn’t lost on Himura.
“You took a while,” Himura says, and manages to lean on his elbow before flopping back down. His body feels like it’s made of lead. “That looks premium.”
“It really isn’t, I sneezed into it at some point,” Arisu says, though he smiles anyways.
“Mmm.”
“Oh shut up, you’re disgusting.” He separates both their chopsticks and raises an eyebrow when Himura just watches. “You gotta sit up to eat, Himura.”
“I know.” Himura doesn’t move.
“Oh, you’re just milking it out, aren’t you.”
“Milking what out?”
Arisu rolls his eyes, scoots towards the other side of the coffee table and coaxes Himura to somewhat of a sitting position leaning against the arm of the couch. He takes Himura’s half of the ramen and winds a mouthful of noodles over the sticks, blowing away the steam before he presents it to Himura. “Well, here you go, your majesty. Open wide.”
“Open wi—?” Himura stutters as Arisu shoves the noodles into his mouth the moment it opens. After choking for a hot second he manages to chew and swallow, and as soon as he does Arisu’s already armed with another mouthful.
“What do you think?”
Himura nods. “It’s good.”
It’s embarrassing, but Himura feels warm about it—he could do it himself, sure, but he can’t bring himself to correct Arisu at all, just sit and eat and spend almost the entirety of the time staring at him. The slight sheen of sweat from a fever. His hair in disarray, plastered on his forehead. The flannel pajamas. Most of all, perhaps, the glimmer still in his eyes and a faint smile on his face.
“I’m full,” Himura says, halfway through. “You should go and eat, Arisu.”
“Not really hungry,” Arisu says, but lets out a short laugh when Himura gives him a stern look. “Fine, just a little.”
After Arisu’s eaten his fill and they both pop in a pill each, Arisu pulls his futon next to the couch and lies down with his head on the same side as Himura’s. He’s close enough that Himura can reach down and brush his hand with his—Arisu blinks lazily at him and clasps his hand in his.
“Thank you, Arisu,” Himura says before he can think twice about it. “For everything. Sorry for everything I put you through.”
There’s an amused twinkle in Arisu’s eye as he squeezes his hand. “Including the cold? Some friend you are.” He chuckles, and adds, “Anytime, Himura. Happy birthday.”
“My birthday was yesterday,” Himura mutters. The exhaustion, along with the warmth of the ramen and the fever they both were running, was beginning to drag him back down to slumber—and by the looks of it, Arisu was the same.
“Who cares,” Arisu mutters back, eyes fluttering shut.
The last thought that runs through Himura’s mind is how he doesn’t half mind being sick on his birthday if he can be sick with Arisu.