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Akane’s been sick only a handful of times, when his sole responsibilities were learning how to tie his shoes and digging up worms in his childhood best friend’s backyard.
He’d gotten a fever once after running home with Aoi in the rain. It pained him to see her through his window the next morning, eyes downcast as she trudged down the block alone, the hand usually holding his buried deep in her pocket. The sight had made his tiny heart ache, and he’d curled tighter beneath the covers with a silent conviction to get better the next day.
Which, physically, is impossible for a kid. It had taken him a week to recover, even longer to realize he wasn’t some kind of superman to Aoi—her savior who’ll chase her bullies away, a hero who’ll wipe her tears and protect her from danger, forever.
Inevitably, there would come a time when he’d have to step down from being number one in her life. It’s more prevalent now that they’re in high school, with all the boys (and girls too, he’s noticed) wanting to steal a glimpse of her pretty face and delicately curled lashes. There’s an endless competition, and what makes it worse is that he’s been rejected by her more times than years he’s been alive. So, he’s taken it upon himself to get more creative with his expression of love.
In other words, becoming Aoi’s ideal man, the guy of her dreams and fluctuating fancies. Molding himself to whatever she likes, whatever passing comment she makes: she wants an athlete? Boom, he’s on the baseball team. A kind, considerate person? He’s already taken up the role of class rep, no problem. A responsible, trustworthy leader? Yes, well. That’s the thing.
He’s the vice president of the student council, sure, but there’s someone superior to him in nearly every damn aspect. In grades, cleverness, looks, popularity—he’s the one guy Akane prayed would never grab Aoi’s attention, but did against all his fervently hushed prayers before bed; the manifestation of his worst nightmares, who just so happens to be standing over him with disapproval plastered all over his darkened face.
Akane blinks up at who he thinks is a hallucination. A very surprising one, considering it isn’t Aoi, his beautiful, graceful Ao-chan. The voice that rings around his head dismisses any hope of her appearance, however.
“Aoi.”
That familiar tone wades through the fog in his sleep-addled mind, snapping him back to reality in a way that has him shooting up in the bed. Frantically, he searches for his phone, exhaling in relief once he finds it.
“What time is it…?”
It’s when the screen clicks open with its glaring light that he realizes someone is still there. Backtrack, he needs to backtrack to how he got here, why he’s in here, and when the president arrived, because he doesn't think he can stomach it if it turns out Teru had been watching him sleep all this time, a witness to his vulnerability laid bare, like the heart he wears on his sleeve.
And what is he if not honest, blurting out his innermost thoughts: “You,” his voice trembles faintly, “I told you to wake me up.”
To that, the bastard smiles. “You were sleeping so soundly, I couldn’t.”
With a tired groan, Akane digs the heels of his palms into his burning eye sockets. He’d smack the guy if he weren’t so exhausted. He’d do it if his body didn’t feel like it was being sucked into the floor, like he’s dragging weights where his feet should be. He staggers forward, and vaguely, he can see the outline of Teru’s unsheathed sword, slick with inky blood. It seems he’d been out patrolling the premises.
Vision blurring, breathing quickening, Akane suddenly feels his legs give out. What greets him isn’t a harsh kiss to the floor, but a noseful of laundry-scented clothes drying in the sun, stable arms reaching out to steady him before he falls.
Akane blearily lifts his head to find Teru looking down at him, eyes wide.
“Aoi?”
“I…” His throat is parched, and he can hardly hear himself over the pounding in his ears. “I don’t think… I can…”
At one point, adhering himself to Aoi’s ideal type started to blend seamlessly with his daily life. While it still resides at the back of his mind, fighting so hard for her approval isn’t his first instinct anymore; it’s those hours after school that have him preoccupied, sharing a burden of paperwork with someone he never thought he could be civil around.
It’s easy to forget his motives for joining the student council when working himself to the bone has become second nature to him. And with that comes the palpable feeling of dread settling over him like a light drizzle, piling up until it's impossible to ignore.
Against his will, he’s come to learn about Minamoto Teru. His strange quirks, his sadistic tendencies, his underlying worries about factors out of his control—his brother, for one, whose abundance of love has made him insurgent, a threat to everything Teru’s ever lived by, ever known.
Against his will, he’s confronted by the shift in their relationship, emphasized by the arms holding him upright, which Akane consciously pulls away from, painfully aware. Aware that Teru is comfortable enough to let the slivers of his humanity slip past his guarded exterior around him; comfortable enough to catch Akane when he falls, to defend him even when he had no more will to live, when he had been no better than a lifeless body; and still, Teru had hauled him back from the brink of death before the clock’s final strike.
Against his will, Akane slumps back against Teru’s chest, eyes falling closed. He succumbs to the wave of exhaustion crashing over him, shoulders growing heavier as though crushed by a meteor, its raging hellfire coursing hot through his throbbing forehead, spiking into full-blown bursts of pain across his synapses.
With his consciousness slowly fading, the last thing he hears is the sharp slice of air and the crackle of electricity behind him before the world goes black.
—
When he opens his eyes again, he’s on Teru’s back. They’re outside in the dead of night, crickets chirping to accompany the silence, the universe glittering above their heads to guide their way home.
Akane makes the mistake of shifting too abruptly. Teru stops, adjusts his hold on his legs, and looks back at him.
“You’re awake,” Teru says, relieved, then resumes his steps. Drowsily, Akane has half a mind to ask where they’re going.
“Home,” the older boy answers, voice resounding clearly in his ears. “Your home.”
My home, he thinks, resting his chin on the juncture of Teru’s neck. Akane’s eyes droop slightly as he mumbles, “You know where I live.”
“I’ve been there before, Aoi.”
“Oh.”
Akane shivers at the chill breeze passing by, but Teru’s presence is comforting. The steady tread of his feet, the rise and fall of his diaphragm Akane can feel through his own clothes—the perfect lullaby to soothe the dull ache in his skull.
“Right,” he murmurs, and Teru hums. After a beat, he musters up a quiet, “My parents might be home, though.”
He thinks he hears Teru laugh, a faint sound, whisked away by the buffeting wind. “So?”
“I—” He doesn’t know. “Nevermind.”
Tucking his face into the collar of Teru’s jacket, Akane lets out a long sigh. He stays like that, and before long, they turn onto a familiar block. He wonders how long they’ve been walking for. Teru says about twenty minutes. Akane curses himself inwardly for speaking his thoughts out loud.
Then, an idea pops into his head: what if he accidentally says something strange?
Fear runs down his spine, but he reminds himself that there’s nothing weird to say. There isn’t, no, maybe except for the one question poised at the tip of his tongue, which could easily ruin whatever they have if he’s mistaken.
Whatever it is they have, he’d rather keep it.
“It’s late,” Akane tries again, the words heavy with something he can’t articulate.
Teru glances at him, the curve of his mouth tipped upwards. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, gaze lowered. “It’ll be awkward having to explain yourself.”
“Then I’ll tell them what happened,” Teru puts it simply. “You passed out—”
“I did?”
“—and I carried you back home.”
Akane falls silent and Teru asks, “Is that so hard, Aoi?”
For Teru, it must be. Must be difficult, carrying another guy along with their bags and his sword. Must be, after so many sleepless nights, his arms littered with the proof of his toils: scars Akane has only seen glimpses of on the rare occasion Teru rolls his sleeves up when he thinks no one is looking, or when he scratches absentmindedly at his skin and Akane’s calling him back to reality before he can injure himself more.
Teru has a duty to slaughter supernaturals, but here he is, choosing to waste his time bringing Akane home instead. He’s spending precious energy on him, when it shouldn’t matter.
He’s meant to protect society as a whole. Not just Akane, who he’s always piecing back together, placing him back where he belongs. On the near-shore, or on his bed, gently, making sure his head is cradled by lots of pillows.
“What happened back there?” Akane asks once they’ve successfully sneaked inside his house without alarming his parents, creeped up the stairs, and entered his room. “In the infirmary, I mean.”
After pulling the covers up to Akane’s chin, Teru readjusts the pillow beneath the boy’s head. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed, close enough that Akane can feel his warmth. He doesn’t move his leg away.
“There was a supernatural sucking the vitality out of you, which is probably why you got sick,” Teru explains. He then chuckles softly, mirth dancing across the moonlit pools of his aquamarine eyes as he gazes at Akane, voice fond. “You’re like a leech magnet, honestly.”
He’d forgotten that Teru had done a similar thing in the past, tagging along on Akane’s little excursion to the hardware store with Aoi to exterminate the pesky supernatural burdening his shoulders. He'd felt lighter then—relieved now, if not for the side-effects.
He supposes Teru's good at that, looking out for him discreetly. Like a casual suggestion to take a nap after school: "I'll finish up here, Aoi, it's alright." Then, when he’d started to protest and get all suspicious, "I will, I will! I'll wake you up before everyone leaves, promise," but it was only a headache, and Akane isn't so special to warrant that kind of treatment.
Everyone has their bad days, so it shouldn't have been a big deal, but.
But, maybe, if it isn't too bold of him to assume, could he consider himself the exception?
“Why do they like you so much, I wonder?” comes Teru's voice in an awe-filled whisper, and a barely audible hitch in Akane’s throat reminds himself to breathe. “They take advantage of your mental state and leave you in this condition," he tsks under his breath, sighing quietly. “It really breaks my heart.”
Irritation tugs at his mouth, but Akane’s face remains schooled, shifting onto his side so that he isn’t facing the other. “You care that much, pres?”
“Of course I do,” and Teru smiles, full and sincere and everything Akane’s in denial about, because no, there’s no way. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“You think too much, Aoi.”
Akane groans, face turned halfway into the pillow. “Leave if all you’re gonna do is bother me.”
He hates the way his heart sinks as the dip in the mattress lets up the next moment, even though he brought it upon himself. An empty feeling widens the already gaping hollow in his chest. He’d felt like this as a kid, too, when his mother would gently turn down Aoi’s request to see him, out of fear she would catch whatever sickness he had. Or when he’d find her gazing sadly at his window, wondering when he’d recover.
Yet, Teru doesn’t leave. He’s right there, hovering above him with a hand outstretched towards his cheek. His cool palm is a relief against Akane’s flushed skin, and it moves down to his neck, resting right over his rapidly beating pulse.
Teru gazes right at him as he murmurs, “Hot.”
The word shouldn’t make him react the way he does, but Akane stutters anyway, “I- I know that,” and grabs Teru’s wrist, pulling it away. “I have a fever, of course I’d feel hot.”
He shouldn’t be feeling this warm, still shouldn’t as Teru resolves to tip-toe downstairs to fetch some water and medicine—if there is any since he rarely gets sick. It’s ridiculous, the pounding of his traitorous heart, his thoughts spiraling into restless delirium the longer this persists.
It doesn’t make sense why Teru pushes his bangs back and wipes the sweat from his face to his neck with a damp towel; why he sticks a thermometer in Akane’s mouth, and when it confirms it’s a fever, why he feeds him medicine and tilts water past his chapped lips, tending to his every need. It doesn’t make sense, because these actions all point to one answer.
But it can’t be.
Once Teru is finished, he takes one final look at Akane’s bundled form and stands there for a while, watching the slow rise of every breath the boy takes, and lets his fingers graze the top of his auburn hair. Akane stirs slightly.
Flitting in and out of sleep, he can sense the subtle glow of Teru’s eyes in the dark, gaze trained on him. It isn’t a look of cold disdain or derisive mockery. It’s calm, like a clear day after a night of torrential rain. Fond, like the sun peeking out behind the gaps of clouds, welcoming the earth once more with its gentle rays.
Tender, like the whispered “Good night,” that sings to him like an angel’s song; and warm, like the kiss placed upon the crown of his head, fleeting, a sigh spilled past longing lips. Akane knocks out shortly after, basked in the warmth of a secret kept between the countless haniwa figures lining the shelves and his president.
When he wakes up feeling more refreshed than usual the next day, Akane doubts whether that was real or just some fever-induced dream. But really, he’d be stupid to keep denying it.
Deep down, he’s known the answer all along.