pullmeoutalive | Model Idol Combi: so you had a sick day

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Model Idol Combi: so you had a sick day

[ so the thing was, Makoto didn't get sick. It took a series of unfortunate events, a moment of stress-induced weakness, and doing the idiotically chivalrous thing of trying to make her way home in the pouring rain and likely spending too much time in soaked clothing, despite Kise's best efforts.

But the point was, Makoto didn't usually get sick, and when she did get sick, it had to be sick enough to buckle her knees and keep her under her covers with a fever that could warm cold palms in an instant. She'd tried to go to work, but hadn't made it further than her own doorway before she'd gotten too dizzy to stand without the aid of the frame and had been promptly ushered back to bed.

And of course, she hadn't wanted to worry Kise, but that had backfired and for some inexplicable reason, she felt worse than ever. She'd have to change the compress again, she thinks distantly, as she tries to push herself up on her elbows to give him a properly chastising look. At the very least, her parents were now out for one of her dad's races, but... ]

You... really didn't have to come.

[ what if she's contagious? It's bad enough that she feels awful and she's sweaty and her hair's a mess and her face is all red and this isn't very romantic at all-- ]

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[And if he wasn't currently inching closer to collapsing on the spot, he'd tell her that no, actually it's very gross. Even he doesn't want to touch it, so she shouldn't either.

But this also means he has to face the facts: he probably can't clean anything up in the state he's in now even if he can find a rag.

The only thing he can do now is obvious.]

... Sorry.

[For making her do this. For throwing up the soup she made.]

[ "For what?" she wants to ask, but doesn't. He doesn't need to scrape his throat for words any more than he already has. And she didn't need his explanation; she didn't blame him for anything. He'd only gotten sick after taking care of her. He'd only thrown up after eating her soup. He was sicker than a dog and she still didn't know what she was doing.

But she wasn't about to give up, either. And she finally manages to get him back in his room and over to his bed. Only then does she answer him; she'd shaken her head earlier. ]

I'm sorry. I should have realized sooner... but I'm really going to try to make it up to you! I promise.

[He's all about planting himself on his bed, too grateful to answer her properly. As far as he's concerned, if she wanted to make up for anything then she's already done it by dumping him back in bed.

But, it's still cold. His head feels hot but he's shivering--]

Your soup-- [That doesn't get much projection when he's talking into his pillow so he tries to be louder.]

I'm sorry about the soup...

[ she tugs the blanket higher over him, then reaches out to touch his head, lightly. ]

It's okay. You really didn't have to force yourself.

[ and with a quick smile, she's reaching for the tray, leaving the water and making her way to the kitchen. She'll try and pick up a rag on the way back to tackle the hallway. ]

[Which means that he'll probably be talking to himself by the time he manages to answer.]

But you made it--

[Oh god his throat. But yeah, award for dumbest decision made while sick goes to Kise. No, it doesn't help that he kind of wants to cry.]

[ hopefully he'll have improved by the slightest incremental amount by the time she's done. Cleaning up bile has never been fun, and her own stomach recoils a bit at the smell, but if she holds her breath and scrubs, it's not that hard to manage. He didn't have a whole lot in his stomach, anyway.

When she returns, it's with another blanket she's borrowed from a closet and a compress to put on his forehead. ]

Hey... [ she starts off, softly, because if he's sleeping, she really doesn't want to disturb him. ]

[His eyes are bleary when they look at her, and that should be enough to tell her that he could not sleep even if he wanted to.

And this time, instead of looking all eager at her return, he just closes his eyes. Her short absence only helped sink further into him that he just threw up and made her clean it. It's a new level of miserable and he almost can't bear it.]

[ for a moment, she falters. It's not like she'd expected him to light up, the way he had when she'd first returned, but the stark difference in reactions is a little disheartening.

But even if he's mad at her or feeling worse, it would be the worst to abandon him, so she lowers herself to her knees, leaning against the side of the bed and resting her palm against his cheek. ]

I'm sorry.

Don't.

[It's tragically half-hearted, that swat at her hand; it's too refreshing compared to all the heaviness around him.]

I'm disgusting.

You're not.

[ that comes out a little sharper, a little angrier than she'd intended, but she can't let him think that. She refuses to let him think that, and even as she snaps out that protest, she keeps her hand gentle. She brushes a thumb underneath his cheekbone and slides her fingers down to his chin. ]

You're sick. But you're not disgusting.

[He still feels disgusting. It's why he tries to tell her 'don't' again; it's obvious that he doesn't have the heart to make her stop though. That and enough strength as he used up what he had left for that frantic sprint for the bathroom.]

I'm-- [She doesn't need to get sprayed with his spit, so he suppresses the coughs.] so gross...

[ Makoto outright snorts this time, shaking her head. This isn't enough to dissuade her-- none of it is. ]

I didn't go out with you because I wanted to date this really handsome and athletic model. I'm going out with you because when I thought about the good things and the bad things that happened to people, I thought that I wanted to be there for yours, to smile with you when the good things happened and to help make the bad things a little easier.

[ she trails off with a small sigh. ] Maybe that sounds too cocky, but the point is, nothing's changed. You're not gross or anything like that to me.

[It might be the fever; somehow her words hit him deeper than usual.

True, maybe he should be disappointed that she didn't want to date a really handsome and athletic model. But it might also be true that what he needs right now is someone who doesn't care about that, but would stay with him even after he threw up all of their homemade soup.

So maybe he could manage one more smile for that someone.]

You're going to make me cry.

Sorry. [ and she's still cupping his cheek, offering him a warmer smile in return. He looks like he feels miserable, so that he's trying to smile both touches her and makes her heart twist a little. ]

It's true, though... I won't take it back.

It wouldn't be like you.

[It looks like he'll finally drift off now...

And then he starts coughing again.]

It'd be nice if we could give you something to calm that down, but if your stomach's still not up to it...

[ she just wants you to rest dammit. ]

[wow it's not like he doesn't want to rest.

At the mention of his stomach, he makes some kind noise that is definitely a 'no'. He's not going to try to shove anything down for a while.]

Thought not... maybe I could try massaging your back? It should at least help your muscles from getting too sore later...

[ things she learns from dance and martial arts practice. ]

[Ah yes, her effective but painful massages... Something else she's surprisingly good at.

The question is whether he can handle that right now.]

Won't that-- [Gotta communicate his worry with more vigor.] Won't that hurt more?

Eh-- a-aaah, no, this is something different! It's supposed to be relaxing, so I don't use as much force!

But you're really strong.

[Despite the whining, and the unnecessary reminder of her not so feminine traits, he tries to roll over so that she can start if she wants.]

I can be gentle too, you know...

[ and she almost sounds hurt about it, even as it emerges as a sigh when she reaches out to rest her hands on his back. A pause. Then she starts circling her fingers in a gentle(!!!) pressing motion, working her way down from his shoulder blades. ]

[Sorry Makoto, this fever. Also his mouth in general.

Anyway, he's anticipating pain even with her reassuring him that she will be gentle. So when she is gentle, he's... surprised. And then caught by the vague notion that this is pretty intimate.

But it still hurts because tensing and general body ache happens when you're down with the flu. His hands curling into the covers, he's caught between muffling himself with the pillow and trying to breathe steadily.]

Ah-- [ if she's too light on the pressure, it won't help him at all, but she doesn't want to hurt him. After another minute, she pauses. He's still so tense... ]

Is it too much?

['Yes' is the easy way out. But he's always been kind of dumb when it comes to things like this.]

It's supposed to help, right?

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