Message: hello there, mulkki! o/ iâm so, so sorry for the late giftâŠ! i hope you enjoy it!! haha, i hope itâs not too out-of-characterâŠ. anyways, i hope you like it, and merry christmas!!!Â
oh my gosh, thank you so much! *><* this is really adorable, I love the first platoon in this fic! <3 ahhh this secret santa was so great, I had a lot of fun participating!
Kind of Daily Lives of 6th Platoon Members (ft. guests)
To: einamu
Message: hello einamu! Merry Christmas (hope I'm not late in your corner of the world)! I had a lot of fun writing your prompts, I just hope I delivered on them haha *^^* sorry for how short they are, I can never seem to write sufficiently long things. So have two short pieces, hope you enjoy!
arataâs dumb ideas:
(beach fluff with arata and muraku)
It all started with Arataâs suggestion. But then again, most things did.
Look, Muraku, he said, stretching his arms out against the background of Kamui Island, all this awesome sand and sun and sea and can you believe it, no one in all of Kamui Daimon has bothered to enjoy them? Itâs a very Arata-like thing, to notice something like a beach opportunity amidst the hustle and bustle and the occasional chaos of War Time and schoolwork. Heâs always had a knack for finding those unexpected but somehow helpful ideas in situations heâs been thrown in.
(Itâs very different from his own carefully calculated and strategized actions, and perhaps thatâs why he was drawn to him. Opposites attract, or so the old saying goes.)
Arata is already halfway to the water, blazer and jacket thrown carelessly behind him somewhere and trouser cuffs hastily being rolled up as he half-hops, half-runs to the waves. He runs in too deep, misjudging the size and speed of the oncoming waves--soon enough heâs bowled over by the water rushing over his head. Muraku doesnât worry, though; soon enough (almost as if on cue with his expectations) bright red breaks through the waves and Arata is shaking the salt from his face, laughing and turning to Muraku.
Come in, what are you waiting for? Arata waves to him from the beach, and Muraku canât help but smile and raise a hand in return. Itâs a nice day for a swim, after all, he thinks as he slips off his jacket and folds it to the side, tucking it near his shoes and socks. He arranges his and Arataâs clothes in a pile, and lastly he tugs off his gloves, folding them inside his jacket.
He feels like he can appreciate Kamuiâs geography a little more now.
âHmm, 108.6 degrees Fahrenheit; yup, thereâs no mistaking it.â
âNo! Iâm sure that thermometerâs wrong! Iâm totally okay!â
Mikhail notices the signs of Vanessa about to lunge for the thermometer and nimbly sidesteps her reach. Itâs not all that hard, especially considering 1) heâs fought battles with her for how long now, and 2) her fever made her miss Mikhailâs hand by a foot. He didnât even have to move to dodge, but he figured teasing her like that would just be adding fuel to the fire--a cranky, sick Vanessa was already a handful, and he wasnât sure he could handle an angry, cranky, sick Vanessa.
Either way, Mikhail gives her a Look because âVanessa, this is the fifth thermometer youâve said was wrong in the past hour.â He shakes his head. âGive it up, youâre sick.â
Vanessa wails. âB-b-but Mikhaaaaaillll--â Oh, dear, she started coughing up a storm. Mikhail patiently waits for it to subside, even though heâs pretty sure she was going to complain about wanting to be in todayâs mission.
â--I wanted to take out the Arabista jerks today!â (Yup, right on the money. And next sheâll say something about a missed opportunity--) âAnd when does a chance to fight the White Fox ever come?â (--should he cut her off or let her go on?) âAnd Kageto just tuned up my LBX, Iâve been dying to try it out--â (he actually tuned them last Thursday, she hasnât been dying that much to try it out) âand Iâm going to get rusty if I just sit around like this!â (Mikhail feels like heâs the one with a fever now.)
Heâs just gonna have to reason with her, even though it means making her angry. Heâs weighed the options while Vanessa ranted, and heâs decided that 1) itâs better for Vanessa to sit out for a faster recovery, because 2)--
âLook, Vanessa, you need to rest as much as you can to recover as fast as you can. You want to go back out there soon, I know, but youâre not going to be able to fight your best when you canât even snatch this thermometer from me.â (Heâs gonna get hit for that one, isnât he--
ouch!
All of a sudden, Vanessaâs aim with a nearby book dramatically increased.)
He rubs his head; this is a small price to pay, he thinks, compared to option 2. âA-anyways, I, or rather, we, would all rather have you get better quickly and join us in peak form.â He hesitates a little.
â...Let me get you something to eat.â
---
Vanessa canât believe it, holy shit, Mikhail is one hell of a cook.
âOh my god, you could totally be a housewife or something,â she says, only it comes out more like a slobber because sheâs too busy slurping away at the soup Mikhailâs brought over. Mikhail doesnât even flinch from already being used to her eating habits; sheâs pretty thankful that he (and the rest of the platoon) donât make a fuss about it.
âMan,â she says inbetween spoonfuls, âif being sick means I get to eat your cooking, maybe I should get sick more.â To her surprise Mikhail kind of freezes, looking at her with a weird kind of worried look. Shoot, she was just joking; Mikhail needs to learn to joke more (or else heâll end up like Kageto, or worse, Muraku--by the way why was no one in this platoon particularly humorous?).
She laughs. âJust kidding, Iâd rather fight.â She scrapes the bottom of the bowl for another spoonful. Mikhailâs shoulders seem to relax a little at her appetite, both for fights and food. Good--she canât keep him worrying about her so much. Heâs got enough on his own plate. And seriously, she doesnât even feel that sick; missing the thermometer was a fluke.
Sheâs so distracted by scraping the bowl (and feeling not sick) that sheâs taken by surprise by a cool touch against her forehead--Mikhail is checking her fever, comparing it with a hand to his own forehead. He peers at her closely.
âYour fever feels like it mightâve gone down a little; maybe the food and rest helped.â
Vanessa practically throws the covers aside--or would have, if Mikhail hadnât stopped her. Dammit. He knows her too well.
âNo, Vanessa, youâre still running a temperature. Just stay in bed for the rest of today, and hopefully youâll be better by tomorrow morning.â Vanessa tries to protest. âNo buts.â Dammit.
She pouts. âWell, Iâm gonna be bored sitting here all day. Make up for it.â Treat her like a queen, bring her candy and a Swallow Cafe parfait, or something--she hates being cooped up and told to stay still.
Instead Mikhail brushes her bangs aside and leaves a small kiss on her forehead. âGet better, and weâll negotiate.â He turns to leave, and Vanessa can swear she sees the tips of his ears turning pink.
...Probably as pink as sheâs turning right now. Shit.
---
Mikhail closes the room door gently, leaving Vanessa to rest. He doesnât particularly enjoy leaving Vanessa rolled up in blankets like that, but itâs the bets thing to do; she needs to get better, and running around outside like she normally does isnât going to help. And he would 1) much rather endure taking care of an angry, cranky, sick Vanessa than 2) let her fight in War Time in such a condition andâŠ
...Well, even with all his faith in their platoonâs capabilities thereâs no telling what could happen in War Time. And he just wants to make sure Vanessa does not get Lost.
