🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒
@lastgenesis asked: [ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 ] ― sender feeds receiver soup when they’ve fallen ill (fleur to akira ofc)
Being sick is a misery for which Akira is woefully unprepared.
Sojiro has too much to do downstairs to take care of him, and he's for sure not asking Futaba to drop in. Not only is she probably not equipped to help, but having been shut in for so long, he has no clue how her immune system might handle something this nasty. It takes a lot to take him down, after all, and not even Morgana is venturing too close, curled up on one of the chairs at the table and occasionally popping up to stare at him pityingly. For his part, Akira is doing his best to keep the coughing to a minimum, curled up miserably beneath his blankets and wishing he'd scrounged up the yen for a kotatsu instead of a regular wooden table. Instead he contents himself with a hot water bottle Sojiro had been kind enough to fill for him just before the lunch rush, wishing that his overactive mind would at least shut down and let him sleep. He's no closer to dozing off when the sound of the lunchtime regulars dies down, and footsteps make their way up the stairs. Akira doesn't bother sitting up, expecting Sojiro, and so only rolls toward the staircase, reaching absently for his glasses. The lanky figure hesitating at the top of the steps, however, is definitely not Sojiro, and Akira sits up so fast the (now lukewarm) hot water bottle flops out of the blankets almost comically suddenly, rolling under the table. Fleur's mismatched eyes blink between him and it slowly, the small container in his hands being set atop the table as he bends down for it. Akira doesn't even manage to croak out that he doesn't have to do that before Fleur is testing the object in his hand carefully, turning to head back downstairs without a word. Akira is left staring after him, wondering if he's having some strange fever dream, until Fleur's touch is at his forehead, the back of his hand surprisingly soft for a mechanic. The now hot again water bottle is tucked against him a moment later, and Fleur turns to retrieve the container he'd brought along. Akira can just-barely recognize the smell of soup, and his brain finally connects to his mouth well enough for him to speak, his own hand rising to rub at his bleary eyes. Unfortunately, the connection isn't quite secure enough to keep him from calling the other brunet by the nickname he (usually) reserves for referring to him in his head.
"Hibana, you didn't have to come by," is the quiet mumble, the warmth of the refreshed water bottle making him feel a lot more lax. In tandem with the ease Fleur's company brings, he feels closer to sleep than he has all day. He'd mentioned being sick that morning during their usual morning texts, but he hadn't expected this. "You're gonna get sick too if you're not careful."
It doesn't stop him from leaning in when prompted by Fleur's pale, outstretched hand and warm smile, opening his mouth to allow himself to be fed.
"Seriously," he tries again, straightening and hating how tired the slight action makes him feel, "I can feed myself. I don't want..."
"Could you kick me out if you tried?" Fleur asks abruptly, making Akira's brain grind to a halt as he tries to process the question. At the eventual shake of his head, Fleur's own does the same, a soft breath leaving him- part sigh, part laugh. "Then I'll stick around at least until you eat. Then I'll leave if you really want."
He doesn't, is the problem, but he nods his agreement regardless, and Fleur, satisfied, resumes helping him eat, careful and patient. By the time the soup is gone, Akira's feeling pleasantly warm all over, and by the look on Fleur's face as he checks his temperature again, it's for good reason.
He doesn't remember beginning to doze off. He doesn't remember stubbornly refusing to let go of Fleur's hand, either. What he does remember is Fleur's hands in his hair at some point in the evening, and warmth more encompassing than he'd managed by himself all day settling around him throughout the night.
When he wakes up the next morning to Fleur's sneezing beside him, he only feels a little guilty when he says, a little smugly:
"Warned you."
Fleur smacks him with his spare pillow.
