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Have a sick Rei fic because I like him miserable and I like Kazuki being the exasperated yet worried malewife he is. Also cute Miri. Absolutely cute Miri because her relationship with Rei heals me in many ways.
So this might be OOC because I'm still figuring them out, so if you have anything to say, I'll be happy to hear you out!
The sound of the ocean was usually a comfort. Tonight, for Rei Suwa, it was absolutely agonizing.
He woke with a start, a throbbing ache radiating from the core of his skull to the tips of his fingers. The room, dimly illuminated by silvery moonlight through the window, spun in a slow, nauseating tilt. He tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead. Every swallow was agony, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed sand. His nose was completely sealed, forcing him to breathe through a mouth that tasted like dust and heat. The pillow was uncomfortably warm from the heat radiating from his face.
Kazuki was right.
For two days, Kazuki had been on him. "You're getting a cold, Rei. Your voice is scratchy." "You should take the preventative medicine before it gets worse." Rei had brushed it off, blaming the sea air, the rich desserts he liked to eat, the single scoop of ice cream Miri had insisted on sharing. He'd even accused Kazuki of being paranoid, a mother hen. Now, the paranoid mother hen was sleeping peacefully in the next room, and Rei was paying the price for his stubbornness.
With a groan that was more of a pathetic wheeze, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool, a brief shock against his burning feet. The walk to the bathroom felt like a marathon. He braced himself against the wall, the world tilting dangerously with each step.
Flicking on the bathroom light was a mistake. The brightness stabbed his eyes. He squinted, reaching for the mirrored cabinet, opened it.
And stared.
It was Kazuki's domain. Neatly organized, yet baffling to Rei's fever-addled brain. There were boxes and bottles in cheerful blues, greens, and reds. "Daytime Non-Drowsy." "Nighttime Maximum Strength." "For Chest Congestion." "For Sinus Pressure." "For Coughs with Phlegm." "For Dry Coughs." Which one was he? He was all of it and none of it. He picked up a blue box, his vision swimming over the tiny text. Do not operate heavy machinery. He wasn't planning to; he could barely operate his own limbs.
A wave of dizziness hit him, and he gripped the sink counter, head bowed. Pride was a luxury for the healthy. He was defeated. He would have to wake Kazuki.
The shame was almost as potent as the fever. He, a former top-tier assassin who could disarm a man twice his size, was bested by a common cold and a cabinet full of chemicals. He shuffled back into the dark hallway, pausing outside the door to Miri's room. Quiet. Good. He didn't want her awake and seeing him like this.
He pushed open the door to the master bedroom. Kazuki was a still shape under the covers, one arm thrown over his eyes. Rei stood there for a long moment, gathering the tattered remains of his dignity.
"Kazuki," he rasped. The name came out as a harsh, dry whisper.
No movement.
He tried again, a little louder, the effort triggering a coughing fit that rattled his chest. "Kazuki."
This time, Kazuki stirred. He mumbled, rolled over, and squinted into the darkness. "Rei? Wha's wrong?" His voice was thick with sleep, but immediately alert. He was always alert where his family was concerned.
"I..." Rei began, then coughed again. "The medicine. I don't know which one."
There was a beat of silence. Then the bedside lamp clicked on. Kazuki sat up, his hair adorably messy, his eyes blinking as they focused on Rei. He took in the sight: Rei, pale and shivering in his pajamas, leaning against the doorframe like he couldn't hold his own weight.
A series of expressions flitted across Kazuki's face. First, concern. Then, recognition. Then, the slow, dawning "I told you so" that Rei had been dreading. But it didn't morph into the scolding Rei expected. Instead, Kazuki's face softened into something exasperated, fond, and deeply weary.
He let out a long sigh. "You idiot," he said, his voice quiet. He threw back the covers and got up, crossing the room in a few strides. He didn't say a word about being right. He simply placed the back of his hand against Rei's forehead and then his cheek, his touch cool and infinitely gentle.
"You're burning up," Kazuki murmured, more to himself.
Rei leaned into the touch, just a fraction, his eyes falling shut. "I can tell," he whispered.
"Come on," Kazuki said, his voice now all business, the "Papa-mode" switching on fully. He guided Rei by the shoulders, not back to his own cold, lonely bed, but toward Kazuki's still-warm one. "Back in bed. I'll get it."
Rei didn't argue. He let himself be maneuvered under the covers Kazuki had just vacated. He watched, eyelids heavy, as Kazuki padded out to the bathroom.
Kazuki returned, a small measuring cup in one hand and a familiar blue bottle in the other—the nighttime kind. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Here. This will help with the fever and let you sleep."
Rei took the cup and downed the sickly-sweet liquid without complaint. Kazuki took the empty cup and then, to Rei's surprise, didn't leave. Instead, he grabbed his desk chair and set it beside the bed. He rearranged the blankets, tucking them firmly around Rei's shoulders before sitting.
"Go to sleep," Kazuki said, his voice a low rumble in the dark after he turned the lamp off.
"Kazuki?" Rei whispered.
"Hm?"
"...The ice cream was good, though."
He felt more than heard the quiet chuckle beside him. "Idiot," Kazuki said. "Go to sleep."
---
An hour later, a rattling cough tore Rei from a fitful sleep. The world snapped back into focus with the feeling of ache in his chest. The cool washcloth Kazuki must have placed on his forehead had slipped to the pillow, now warm and damp. Before the second cough could even finish, Kazuki was upright in his chair.
"Rei?" Kazuki's voice was tight, as if he wasn't asleep a second ago. His hand was on Rei's shoulder, then his forehead again. "Hey, can you breathe well?"
Rei shook his head, the motion making the room swim. He tried to draw a full breath, but it was a futile, wheezing effort through his completely blocked nose. His mouth was a desert. He gestured weakly toward the nightstand, where a glass of water now sat beside the bottle of medicine.
Kazuki helped him sip, holding the back of his head with one hand and steadying Rei's grip on the glass with the other. When Rei lay back, panting slightly, Kazuki's eyes narrowed. "Your nose is completely blocked, isn't it? You need the decongestant drops. You'll get an ear infection or a sinus headache that'll make this feel like a vacation."
Rei's face, already flushed with fever, screwed up in instant, childish refusal. He shook his head again, more firmly this time. "No," he rasped, his voice gravelly. "They're worse than the cold. They trickle down the back of my throat. Taste like bad cherries."
"Rei, for God's sake—"
"No." It was a congested sound. The mighty assassin, felled by a virus, now digging his heels in over nose drops.
Kazuki sighed, cursing under his breath. "Fine. Choke, then. See if I care."
He leaned back in the chair, deciding any further arguing will be a futile attempt. He just crossed his arms and fixed Rei with a look of utter exasperation and exhaustion. It was the "I-have-been-parenting-a-six-year-old-all-day-and-now-I-have-to-do-this-too" look, magnified by the midnight hour. The silence stretched, broken only by Rei's labored, mouth-breathing.
A full minute ticked by on the digital clock. Rei tried to settle, to find a position where his head didn't pound and his throat didn't feel like it was lined with broken glass. He turned on his side, facing away from Kazuki's judgmental stare, but it was no use. Every breath was painful and insufficient. The pressure in his sinuses was building, throbbing uncomfortably.
He heard the sigh behind him. Kazuki was waiting him out, and they both knew who would win.
Finally, Rei flopped onto his back again. He didn't look at Kazuki. He stared at the ceiling, then the wall, and gave a single, stiff nod.
Kazuki didn't say "I told you so." He just pushed himself out of the chair with a soft grunt and went to the bathroom. Rei listened to the familiar rattle of the medicine cabinet.
When Kazuki returned, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, the bottle small in his hand. "Look up," he instructed, his voice quiet.
Rei obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for the unpleasant sensation. He felt Kazuki's fingers, cool and sure, tilt his head back just so. The drop was cold, a shocking little intrusion, followed by the dreaded, slow, chemical trickle down the back of his nasal passage. He grimaced, a full-body shudder of disgust.
"Hold still," Kazuki murmured. "The other side."
The process repeated. Then it was over. Kazuki's thumb brushed away a stray, escaped drop from Rei's cheekbone.
"See? Still alive," Kazuki said, the ghost of a smile in his voice. He recapped the bottle. "Give it two minutes. You'll be able to breathe."
Rei kept his eyes closed, waiting for the miracle. Slowly, surely, the iron vice around his sinuses began to loosen. A faint, cool thread of air found its way through one nostril, then the other. It was the most profound relief he had ever felt. He took a slow, experimental breath—a real, clear, through-the-nose breath. It was a little raw, but it was air.
He opened his eyes. Kazuki was still there, watching him.
"...Hate it," Rei muttered, but the fight was gone. His voice was already less raspy.
"I know," Kazuki said. He sat back, watching, until Rei's breathing evened out and his eyes drifted shut again, finally granting him the mercy of a sleep where he could actually breathe.
---
The line between wakefulness and fever-dream finally dissolved. Rei's mumbled grievances about the medicine's taste, a commentary on a blue shell in a Mario Kart race Kazuki was pretty sure they hadn't played in days, faded into something softer, more fragmented.
Kazuki, perched on the edge of the chair with a damp cloth and a digital thermometer, was thinking about getting up, just for a few minutes to make the idiot lump under the covers something to eat. He'd been playing along, offering absent-minded hums of agreement to the kart-racing strategy while mentally going through options. But the rambling stopped. Rei's head turned on the pillow, his brow furrowed. His eyes were open but glazed, looking at something on the ceiling Kazuki couldn't see.
His voice, when it came, was a thin, papery whisper.
"...not a machine."
Kazuki's hand, reaching to renew the cool compress, froze mid-air. All the exasperation, the mother hen routine, left him instantly.
Rei's head turned slowly toward him, those fever-bright blue eyes trying to focus. "He said… a perfect machine. For the family. But I'm… I'm not."
All Kazuki could do was stare, fists clinching where they now lay on his thighs, wet and cold from the water.
He didn't offer another "I know." He didn't try to reason—there was no point in it, that was Rei's programming since he was a child. He forced his fists to unclench. Slowly, careful not to jostle the mattress, he sat on the edge of the bed. Rei's glassy eyes tracked the movement.
"Damn right you're not," Kazuki said, his voice low and firm. "You're not a machine. Nor perfect. You're human."
He placed his cool hand above Rei's, which was lying hot and limp on the blanket, and closed his fingers around it. The grip was tight, grounding. "Listen to me. You are Rei. You are Miri's Papa." He leaned in closer, making sure the words landed. "And you are my partner. Not a machine. Got it?"
Rei stared at him, blinking slowly. The confusion in his eyes was still there. He was looking for the lie in Kazuki's face. But he found none.
"A human," Rei echoed.
"A human," Kazuki confirmed, squeezing his hand. "Who has a terrible cold and needs to sleep."
A long, slow breath escaped Rei, some of the tension leaching from his shoulders. He didn't speak again. His eyes drifted shut, but his hand held onto Kazuki's with a weak grip. He didn't let go.
Kazuki didn't move. He stayed there, perched on the edge of the mattress, holding the hand of the man who could dismantle a security system in the dark but didn't know how to take care of himself with a fever. He held on as Rei's breathing gradually deepened, the grip on his hand finally slackening.
He then slowly extracted his hand, sighed, and placed the cloth back on Rei's forehead.
And then he got up.
The soft click of the bedroom door was the only sound Kazuki made as he slipped out. In the kitchen, the ingredients for okayu were laid out on the counter within seconds of his entry. His own eyes felt gritty, his movements slower, requiring more consciousness than they usually did. He was running on the last dregs of Papa-energy.
In the quiet, dark bedroom, Rei swam back to consciousness. The few minutes he'd had of sleep had been heavy, drugged, but they left him disoriented. The chair beside his bed was empty. The house was silent, save for the distant sigh of the ocean.
Cold seeped into his bones.
Gone.
The thought was more of a certainty. His father's cold lessons, the presence that could be withdrawn at any second—it all flooded back, twisted and amplified by the fever. He had been too much. Too difficult. Too sick.
And now he was alone.
A sound escaped him, a thin, wounded groan. He didn't call out. Calling out was for people who knew someone would answer. Instead, he moved. His body was a clumsy, overheated puppet. He pushed back the covers, the cool air hitting his sweat-damp skin and making him shiver violently. He fumbled, dragging the blanket with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. It did nothing to warm him nor stop the shivering.
The hallway seemed impossibly long, a dark tunnel. He shuffled forward, bare feet whisper-soft on the floorboards, the blanket trailing behind him. His head swam, the world tilting on its axis. He was looking for Kazuki, because there was no way he had left without at least a note, right? That would be low. His clouded mind had one destination: the front door. If Kazuki was still in the street, he had to… he had to find…
He didn't know.
In the kitchen, Kazuki was just turning down the flame, the okayu at the perfect, soft consistency. He was reaching for a bowl when he heard it.
Thud.
Not a loud crash—that probably would've been better—but a dense, soft, terrible sound. The sound of a body meeting the floor without any attempts to break its fall.
"Rei?" The spoon clattered into the sink. Kazuki was moving before his mind fully processed it, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He rounded the corner into the dim hallway.
Rei was a crumpled heap of blanket and limbs halfway to the front door. He'd tripped over the trailing end of his own makeshift cloak. He wasn't moving.
"REI!"
Kazuki was on his knees beside him in an instant, hands flying to his face, his neck. "Rei! Can you hear me? Talk to me!" The fear made his tone sharper than he meant it to be. He carefully rolled him onto his back. Rei's eyes opened after a second, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling, then slowly focusing on Kazuki's terrified face.
A long, shaky breath rattled out of him. He closed his eyes again, turning his face away for a second—trying to gather the last of his dignity or strength, he didn't know—before forcing it back to Kazuki's face.
"K… Kazu…" The name fractured. The eyes that met Kazuki's weren't defiant, weren't stoic, weren't even delirious. They were utterly, devastatingly lost. The words that followed were a whisper so faint Kazuki had to hold his breath to hear it.
"I thought… you left."
The confession hung between them, small and shattered.
All the exhaustion, all the mild frustration of the night, evaporated. A wave of such profound tenderness and sorrow washed over Kazuki that it stole his breath.
He wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled. He wanted to yell at him for getting out of bed. He wanted to tuck him in and stop those shivers that wracked his frame. He wanted to sit beside him and talk until his throat was raw and Rei would never have that thought again.
Instead, he gently slid his arms under Rei—one under his shoulders, one under his knees—and, with a grunt, lifted him. Blanket and all—his knees popped, he was getting too old for this. He cradled him against his chest, holding him close. Rei was heavy, all dead weight and heat, but Kazuki held him gently as if he were made of glass.
"I'm here," Kazuki murmured, his voice thick. "I'm right here, Rei. I was just making you some okayu. You're stuck with me, you hear? I'm not going anywhere, even when you're a terrible patient."
He carried him back to his room, settling him back in bed and covering him properly with the blanket Rei was wearing like a cape.
"Left? Really? That's the first thing that came to your mind?" he said as he finally sat down on the chair beside the bed.
Rei nodded, not meeting his eyes.
"And you didn't think to call out?"
A shrug. Rei's voice, low and raspy, "Thought you were already gone... was gonna follow you..."
"Follow—where? On the street?" Kazuki gasped, eyes widening like saucers at the thought. "In this state?! Good thing you collapsed here before you reached the door, you idiot!"
Rei looked at him, blinking slowly, confused at the first half of the sentence. "You're glad I collapsed?"
"Here. I'm glad you collapsed here. Or you could've gotten hurt. That medicine is doing things to your brain, damn it," Kazuki clarified. He rubbed his face with both hands, covering his eyes for a second before lowering his hands to stare at his disaster of a partner. "I was in the kitchen making you food. You need to eat."
The thought seemed to have sparked something, because Rei's hand went to his stomach absently. "Eat...?"
"Yeah. Okayu. And you're going to eat it, even if only a few bites. You need your strength to fight this."
He waited. A second. Two. Then Rei nodded, just once.
"Think I can manage..." He looked at the door, then back at Kazuki, who was beginning to rise from the chair. He didn't say anything, too ashamed, maybe. Kazuki seemed to know what he was thinking, anyway.
His voice was soft when it came out. "I'll be in the kitchen. Want me to leave the door open until I come back?"
Rei considered this, then nodded.
"Alright." The door stayed open.
The blue eyes watched the doorway, waiting, awaiting that tuft of blonde hair he can see from his position in bed, that voice he'd come to memorize over the years, the first person who'd ever looked at him and seen a human instead of a robot following orders.
It didn't take long.
"Up you go."
Kazuki's voice was suddenly there, one arm behind Rei's back, helping him sit up, the other placing a pillow behind him against the chill of the cold headboard.
Then Kazuki was in front of him, tray with a spoon and single bowl in hand. "Eat."
Rei carefully took the tray and placed it on his lap, holding the spoon with clumsy fingers. Nevertheless, he managed to bring a spoonful to his mouth, followed by another.
"You like it?"
Rei paused, his brain buffering. How did he say "I'm glad you're here." "I'm glad I wasn't alone. Am not alone." "Thank you for staying even though it's my fault." "This okayu is the best I've ever had." all at once?
Kazuki took a deep breath, sighed. "The least you can say is—"
Before he could finish, the bedroom door creaked softly open, and a small, sleepy figure stood silhouetted in the hallway light. Miri, her hair mussed on one side and her small hand resting on the door, blinked at the scene.
Rei was propped against a pillow, Kazuki perched on the edge of the bed. The room smelled faintly of the medicine she didn't like and warm rice.
"Rei-papa?" Miri's voice was thick with sleep. She squinted, taking in the details—the extra blankets, the glass of water, the tired lines around Kazuki's eyes and the way Rei's eyes seemed slightly shiny. Her brow furrowed in a perfect mirror of Kazuki's own worried expression. "Is Rei-papa sick?"
Kazuki forced a smile for her sake. "Hey, Miri. Yeah, he's got a little cold. You should stay back, sweetheart, so you don't catch his germs."
Miri didn't move. She stood her ground in the doorway, her gaze fixed on Rei, who managed a weak, barely-there smile for her. She watched as Rei picked up the spoon again, dipping it into the bowl.
A minute passed in quiet, broken only by Rei's congested breathing. Then, Miri took a step forward.
"Kazu-papa," she announced, her voice clear in the hushed room. "I want to help."
"Thank you, Miri," Kazuki said gently, his eyes going between the bowl of okayu and Rei's face, watching for any deterioration, any sign of nausea. "You can help by being a good girl and going back to bed so you stay healthy."
"I want to feed Rei-papa," she insisted, taking another step into the room. "I can do it. I'm a big girl now."
Kazuki finally glanced over, his expression softening at her determined little face. "I know you're big, but this is Papa's job right now. Rei-papa needs me to help him."
Miri's lower lip pushed out in a faint, familiar pout. She wasn't throwing a tantrum; not yet, she'd outgrown them at some point last year. But she'd seen this before. When she was sick, both her papas doted on her. They took turns. It was a family affair. This looked too much like Kazu-papa was hogging all the caretaking.
"I helped when you cut your finger before," she stated, a flawless piece of logic in her simple world. "I got the band-aid. The dinosaur one."
Kazuki opened his mouth, then closed it. She had apparently decided the conversation was over, and she had won.
From the bed, Rei watched the standoff through half-lidded eyes. He was more than thankful she had saved him from having to talk.
And he was also feeling something weird and warn in his chest at the thought of her feeding him.
His voice was a dry leaf of a sound. "…Let her."
Both sets of eyes turned to him. Kazuki's were worried. Miri's lit up with triumph.
"Rei, she shouldn't get this close—"
"Mask," Rei breathed, the single word an effort.
Kazuki paused. He looked from Rei's exhausted face to Miri's hopeful one. The fight drained out of him. He was too tired to fight his two most stubborn people. With a sigh that was mostly fondness, he surrendered.
"Okay." He pointed a finger at Miri. "You have to wear a mask. And you wash your hands before and after. Super, super well."
Miri nodded so vigorously her hair bounced. "I will!"
While she dashed to the bathroom, Kazuki fetched the box of masks they kept in the kitchen drawer. When Miri returned, her hands still damp, he helped her put one on. It was too big for her small face, covering her from the bridge of her nose to under her chin, making her look like a very serious little doctor.
Kazuki carefully transferred the bowl of okayu into her waiting, outstretched hands. He guided her to the chair he'd vacated, now pulled right up to the bedside. "Sit here. Small spoonfuls."
"I'm not a bird," Rei mumbled, without any heat.
Miri climbed onto the chair, her entire being focused on the bowl in her lap. She picked up the spoon with immense concentration, ladled a tiny, perfect amount of porridge, and held it up. Her eyes above the mask were wide and focused.
"Open up, Rei-papa," she instructed, her voice muffled. "This will make you feel better. Kazu-papa made it."
Rei obeyed, parting his lips.
The spoon clinked gently against his teeth. A little porridge dribbled onto his chin. Miri giggled, the sound a bright bell in the sickroom. Kazuki sighed—though he was smiling—and handed Rei a tissue to wipe it away.
For the next few minutes, the room was peaceful. Miri, with intense focus, delivered tiny spoonful after tiny spoonful. Kazuki watched from the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, his smile now genuine and reaching his eyes. Rei ate, his gaze locked on his daughter, each bite tasting somehow better than the last.
When the bowl was half-empty, Rei's eyelids began to droop heavily. Miri noticed immediately. She set the spoon down carefully and leaned forward. Before Kazuki could stop her, she placed her small, cool hand on Rei's warm forehead, just as she'd seen Kazuki do for her a hundred times.
"You're very warm, Rei-papa," she diagnosed seriously. "You need lots of sleep. I finished my job." She picked up the bowl and spoon and handed them back to Kazuki.
Kazuki took them, his heart so full it ached. "You did an amazing job, Doctor Miri. The best nurse."
Miri beamed behind her mask. She climbed down from the chair and let Kazuki take off the mask. "Goodnight, Rei-papa. Get better soon."
Rei, drifting on the edge of sleep, couldn't form words. But he lifted a heavy hand and let it rest on top of her head for a moment.
"Wash your hands, Miri!" Kazuki called after her as she made her way to the door.
"Okay, Papa!" Then she was gone, the door left slightly ajar behind her.
Kazuki looked at Rei, who was fighting sleep, his breathing slightly easier. He looked at the empty doorway.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough but clear. "Kazuki."
Kazuki turned, his eyes immediately alert. "Hm? Need more water?"
"No." Rei looked down, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "I… acted like a child. Earlier. With the… the getting up. Saying you left. It was stupid. I'm sorry." The apology felt inadequate, clumsy on his tongue.
Kazuki's expression didn't change at first. Then, slowly, it hardened. The gentle concern evaporated, replaced by something almost angry. He crossed his arms and let out a short, sharp sigh.
"Stop that," Kazuki said, his voice low and firm.
Rei blinked, looking up, surprised by the tone.
"I mean it, Rei. Just stop." Kazuki leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the figure in bed. "What do you think this is? What do you think we are?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You were sick. You are sick. You had a fever high enough to make you see things. And you think you need to apologize for feeling scared? For needing help?"
"It was trouble—” Rei began, but Kazuki cut him off.
"It was human," Kazuki stated, the words leaving no room for argument. "Heck, Rei, you shot your arm to prove a point!"
He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, exasperation and love warring inside him. "You don't have to be a perfect, unfeeling machine in this house, Rei. You get to be sick. You get to hate bad-tasting medicine. You get to want someone nearby when you feel awful. That's the whole point..."
Rei stared at him. This scolding… it wasn't cold. It didn't cut. It didn't say you failed. It burned, but it burned like a disinfectant on a wound—cleansing, necessary.
Kazuki was still going, his voice dropping. "So don't you dare apologize for being human with me. With us. That's the one thing I never want you to be sorry for. Got it?"
Rei nodded silently, his throat suddenly closed up. He had spent a lifetime being scolded for imperfections—for a flicker of emotion, for a hesitation, for anything less than lethal perfection. Those scoldings were meant to strip away his humanity, to carve him into a sharper weapon.
This… this was different. Kazuki was scolding him for trying to strip away his own humanity. For apologizing for it.
It felt nice.
"Got it," he echoed, his voice thick.
The fight went out of Kazuki instantly. The stern posture slumped, replaced by pure weariness. He sank back onto the chair, the energy for the lecture spent. "Good," he mumbled, reaching out to adjust Rei's blankets with hands that were once again gentle. "Now, for the last time tonight, go to sleep. And if you apologize again, I'm taking away your controller."
Rei's eyes widened in pure horror at that. "You wouldn't..."
"Oh yeah? Try me."
Rei didn't answer, he knew Kazuki could do it, would do it if he wanted. He just closed his eyes, letting sleep pull him under.
The morning light that filtered through the window was soft and kind. Rei woke to a profound and simple truth—he felt well. He could breathe. The vice around his head had loosened to a faint, manageable pressure. The fire under his skin had been put out. He was tired, a deep, bone-marrow weariness, but the awful sickness feeling had retreated.
He found them in the kitchen. The scene was one he was still getting used to even after a year. Sunlight painted the table. Miri, her hair in two messy tiny pigtails, was diligently chasing a stray blueberry around her plate with a fork. Kazuki stood at the stove, his back to the room, the sizzle of eggs and the rich scent of coffee filling the air.
Rei paused in the doorway, leaning only slightly against the frame—not out of dizziness this time, just to process. He watched them for a moment, his lips twitching upward without his permission.
Kazuki, without turning, spoke. "Sit. Don't stand there looking pathetic. The chair at the far end is yours today." He gestured with a spatula to the seat furthest from Miri, who was strategically placed near the window.
Rei sat. Miri looked up, her face breaking into a huge, relieved grin. "Rei-papa! You look better! Your face isn't all red and squishy anymore!"
"Thanks," he said, his voice still a little rough.
Kazuki brought over two plates, setting one in front of Rei—a modest portion of eggs, toast, a small bowl of yogurt—and the other at his own seat between them. He finally sat down, took a long sip of his coffee, and leveled his gaze at Rei across the table. He let the silence stretch, punctuated only by Miri happily munching her toast.
Then, he began.
"So," Kazuki said, his tone deceptively light. "The great Rei Suwa. The man who can disarm a man twice his size with his bare hands." He leaned forward slightly. "Brought low. By a single scoop of vanilla ice cream."
Rei picked up his fork, focusing on his eggs. He said nothing. He knew his role in this performance.
"Two days," Kazuki continued, warming to his theme. He held up two fingers for emphasis. "For two days, I said, 'Rei, your throat sounds scratchy.' 'Rei, maybe take some of the preventative medicine.' 'Rei, you're looking peaky.' And what was the response?" He looked at Rei expectantly, playing to his audience of one very interested six-year-old.
Miri, sensing the theatricality, played her part. She swallowed her bite and chimed in, "What did he say, Kazu-papa?"
"He said," Kazuki announced, his voice dropping to a dramatic, gruff impersonation of Rei, "'It's the sea air.' 'It's the dessert.' 'You're paranoid, Kazuki. Stop being a mother hen.'" He dropped the voice and shook his head, a picture of wounded righteousness. "A mother hen. Me."
Rei took a bite of yogurt, the coolness soothing his throat.
"The hubris," Kazuki sighed, spreading his hands. "The sheer, unadulterated hubris of thinking you could out-stubborn the common cold. And then, last night! The grand performance! The Midnight Stumble! The Tragic Collapse!" He was fully in his element now, the sleepless night fueling his oration. "All because someone was too proud to take a single pill."
Miri giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
"And let's not forget," Kazuki went on, pointing his fork at Rei for emphasis, "the critique of my medical expertise. 'They trickle. They taste bad.' As if I was trying to poison you!"
Rei listened, chewing slowly. The toast was perfect. He took another bite.
He deserved every word of it. And he loved every word of it.
Kazuki finally wound down, taking another sip of coffee. "So," he concluded, his voice returning to its normal pitch. "The lesson is learned, one hopes?"
Rei set down his fork. He looked from Kazuki's expectant face to Miri's grinning one. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the remnant of fever.
"The lesson," Rei stated clearly, his voice still slightly rough but firm, "is that next time Kazuki says I'm getting a cold, I'm getting a cold. And I should take the medicine."
Kazuki stared at him for a beat, then a slow, triumphant, utterly exhausted smile spread across his face. He reached out as he stood, ruffling Rei's hair on the way. "Damn right you will."
Rei's mouth opened, ready to tell him to back off—
And was interrupted by a small sneeze.
Miri wiped her nose on her sleeve, sniffling.
Kazuki and Rei looked at her. Looked at each other. Looked at her again.
"No..." Kazuki groaned. "No, no, no. You have got to be kidding me."
Miri just smiled, bright and innocent. "I forgot to wash my hands after I fed Rei-papa."
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