Work Text:
Homare is very, very cute. This is an Azuma-certified fact.
Anything he does is cute, really. It’s cute when he acts as a blaring alarm for the whole dormitory at 6:30 a.m. sharp with his latest poem. It’s cute when he takes too long with the condiments at lunch because God forbid Homare from not drawing a masterpiece with ketchup on his platter. It’s even cute when he leaves behind a scattering of rose petals in the dorm’s bathroom because he was generous enough to allow his troupe mates to experience the joy of having rose petals in their bath.
Azuma thinks his boyfriend is quite adorable. However, the validity of this statement wavers with a text message that maybe no one is surprised to see.
[ WINGTER TROUPE GROUP CHAT ]
Hisoka 7:00 AM
Something is wrong with arisu
And well. No one bats an eyelash at this. ...From Hisoka? No, not really. It’s the following messages that sound the alarms.
Hisoka 7:03 AM
I think hes sick
Hisoka 7:04 AM
Arisu’s kind of hot
And he hasnt given me any marshmallows yet
It’s indeed quite strange to hear that Hisoka has woken up naturally, and not by the smell of his delicious, most precious marshmallows. Something is for sure wrong if the Mankai company’s morning rooster hasn’t made a single peep.
And.
...The thought of Homare being sick is not cute at all.
[ WINGTER TROUPE GROUP CHAT ]
Azuma 7:05 AM
:sad kamekichi:
poor guy, i’ll bring a thermometer. is he awake?
Tsumugi 7:06 AM
How’s he feeling? I’m in the kitchen right now...
I’ll get Homare’s breakfast before coming over!
Hisoka 7:08 AM
Hes awake now
Ive been poking his face
Chuckling softly, Azuma sets his phone aside to rise from his bed. He’s greeted with the sight of an empty room, his roommate having long left for his morning run with Tasuku, but Azuma is not lonely. The sight of Guy’s possessions and the faint smell of his incense still lingering in the air are more than enough to remind Azuma that he is not alone. Coupled with the fact that he has a very adorable (and sick) boyfriend who probably needs someone to free him from Hisoka’s face poking—yes.
He is not alone.
Faster than usual, Azuma goes through his morning routine. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, changes into day-appropriate attire, and leaves room 206 to make his way to the dorm’s bathroom. He even rushes his eight-step morning skin routine (he leaves out the face mask!), and if this isn’t a testament to his strong feelings for Homare… then who knows.
Not forgetting to grab a thermometer from the medicine cabinets before leaving, he makes a quick pace to room 205.
“Good morning, Azuma!” Tsumugi calls from not far away, with a tray with an omelet and glass of water in tow.
“Good morning to you, Tsumugi. Do you need help with that?”
“Ah, there’s no need! If you could just knock on the door, that would be great actually!”
So Azuma knocks on the door. There’s no response, but faint sounds can be heard beyond the door, so he tries his luck at turning the knob. It’s unlocked, most likely because of Hisoka, who had already been expecting them.
“—soka! Must you continue poking my face?! Will you not allow me a moment of rest while I am in this state? Woe is me, I say! Woe is me!” exclaims a very nasally, hoarse voice muffled by a heap of blankets which must only be Homare.
“No. Go back to being annoying. I don’t like you like this,” replies Hisoka who pokes the poor heap once again, shifting his head slightly to acknowledge their guests.
As much fun as it would be to allow this banter to continue, Azuma interrupts to make his and Tsumugi’s arrival known to the other resident. “Good morning Hisoka. Good morning sweetheart—you’re sick?”
The blankets shift. “Azuma, my dear, is that you?” And Homare’s whole torso snaps up from the bed in an instant, revealing a very tousled Homare who’s still wearing one of his brightest smiles as he looks at Azuma.
This smile lasts only for a second, however, as Homare’s face twists into one of pain and he defeatedly falls back to the bed. Poor baby.
As Tsumugi places the breakfast tray on a table, Azuma crosses the room to climb the ladder leading to Homare’s bed. Making himself comfortable as he sits down on the silk bedding, he reaches a hand over to lightly pat and rub the heap of Homare.
“I’m here, and I brought a thermometer,” Azuma says and he feels around the pile to make out a certain impression—there it is. Having found what he was looking for, he reaches below to gently ease Homare’s hand from under the blankets to raise it to his lips to place a kiss upon it. Now satisfied, he lowers their joined hands to the mattress, only to run his thumb across the poet’s knuckles instead. “Will you let me take your temperature?”
“Yes… yes, of course…” And Homare has one of the cutest pouts on his face and he pokes his head out from the blanket to allow Azuma to take his temperature. His obvious misery aside, sick Homare is actually quite adorable.
“...About one-hundred-and-one degrees. That’s a pretty low fever, thank goodness,” Azuma huffs in relief while tucking the blankets under his boyfriend’s chin.
“Have you experienced other symptoms Homare?” Tsumugi asks, having now climbed the ladder to Hisoka’s bed, leaning over the railing dividing the two beds to peer at Homare’s face with a look of concern.
“You were coughing a bit on our stroll last night,” Azuma comments. “We didn’t have to go if you weren’t feeling well.”
“Just sneezing and a sore throat… oh and I suppose headaches as well to answer your question, Tsumugi.” Homare feels around the mattress to search for Azuma’s hand. He finds it. He always does. “My dear, I never would have imagined such a light cough would escalate into a cold. But please know that I do not regret our time spent together last night.”
Azuma can’t help but smile at the poet’s sincerity. Squeezing the hand in his, he says. “...And we will spend more time together today. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you in more ways than one.” To make a point, he throws a playful wink at Homare. If Tsumugi barely hides a cringe and if Hisoka bangs his head against the nearby wall, he pretends to not see it.
“For where thou art, there is the world itself,” the poet only laughs before explaining himself. “It’s act 3 scene 2 from Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part 2. Please feel it in your heart that I do mean every single word. Having you, my muse, here at my side is all the care I have ever needed! Why, I already have a poem at the tip of my tongue, lying in eager wait to be said!”
Homare takes a moment to clear his throat… which turns into a coughing fit. A hoarse voice does nothing to conceal the passion he has in his craft, however.
“Ah! With my dearest heart in sight, the heart caged within yearns to take flight! To the marrow, a broad arrow… white blood cells, roaming, yet flowing! For my admissio—”
“Arisugawa. I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better by resting instead of spouting a poem,” chides Tasuku from the doorframe. Guy is right behind Tasuku, holding flowers and a box of Kleenex tissues. They’re both still in their athletic gear, they must have come straight to room 205 when they got back from their run. Aww, how sweet, thinks Azuma.
“Foolish Tasuku—,” begins Homare.
“What do you mean foo—.”
With his unoccupied hand, Homare raises a pointer finger to the ceiling, if only to create a more dramatic effect. “Art may not be the medicine for illness, because rather, it is the panacea for the soul! It is but an expression of the visionary human mind and all of its achievements. Sick I may be but my dri—,” and Homare cuts himself off with a wheeze as his speech drives him into another coughing fit.
Tasuku just shakes his head, but his lips curl upwards nonetheless. Everyone in this room, the entirety of Winter Troupe is smiling, even the sick patient in bed.
Guy has already placed the flowers where Homare can see them and leans on his tiptoes to place the box of tissues on Homare’s bed so they are within reach. “Arisugawa. I’ve brought flowers and tissues. I do wish you a swift recovery.”
This troupe… has really come a long way. Azuma thinks back to his early days in the troupe and can’t help but huff a sigh at his long-gone past reservations. Gingerly, he lets go of Homare’s hand to cradle the sick man’s cheek instead.
“We all want you to have a speedy recovery, so let’s rest now, okay?”
——+——
The next few hours look a little like this:
The six of them all eat their breakfast together in room 205 over small chatter of their plans for the day, the latest TV shows they’ve watched (which turned into critiquing the acting in each one), and their hopes for today’s evening practice. On the topic of practice, Tsumugi sends a message to the director about how Homare will not be showing up for practice today because he needs to focus on recovering. And with the nature of Mankai Company, news of Homare’s cold spreads to every actor.
By noon, everyone has popped their head into room 205 to wish Homare to get well soon, even Matsukawa and the director. Matsukawa gives Homare cough drops he acquired from the storage room while the director hands a bottle of cold medicine from the kitchen.
Homare takes the medicine and proceeds to knock out from the high drowsiness effect. While Homare naps, Tasuku retrieves a set of cards for them to play some card games to prepare for their roles in their next production.
“Guy… do you have any threes?” asks Hisoka, his voice showing signs he’s about to join Homare in the realm of sleep.
“Mikage, I do not have any trees. I don’t believe trees are a rank.”
“Um,” Tsumugi begins with a laugh, “Hisoka said ‘threes’.”
“Oh,” Guy exhales, looking down at his cards with a new understanding. “Go fish, Mikage.”
And after Go Fish, there is a round of BS that ends with Tasuku having more than half the deck in his hands.
“Taa-chan… I’m a little concerned if you’re this gullible.”
“You said you placed a seven! I have three sevens, of course I would believe you.”
“...That’s exactly it, Tasuku… I placed a seven last round, so of course Tsumugi would be lying…” Hisoka mutters.
Eventually, the group members slowly trickle out of the room to start their prior engagements, as much as they would have liked to have stayed. Tsumugi excuses himself first to go tutor one of his students, Tasuku notices the time and drags Hisoka out to hastily put themselves together to attend the rehearsal for another troupe’s play that they are guest-starring in. And finally, Guy announces sometime later that the flowers in the garden need attending to, making it so the only ones who remain in the room are Azuma and Homare.
“Mm..mgh…”
“Waking up now, sweetheart? Good morning.”
Homare only chuckles at this. “Morning, is it? My dear, would you inform me of the time?”
“Hmm… it’s about 4:10 in the evening,” he mumbles as he taps his phone on, dismissing the reminder of evening practice on the screen.
Even with his cold, Homare is just as attentive as ever it would seem. “Ah! How the time flies when deep in the depths of slumber. My dear, you should leave to get ready for practice! Our friends can’t be left without both a Ledley and a Norman.” To make a point, he rises slowly from his pillow to properly see Azuma off.
Against his will, memories of the past flood to the forefront of Azuma’s mind. Memories of his parents and his brother’s backsides as they leave his sick self behind for their trip. Memories of lying in anxious wait for their return. The fear of being alone still clings to him like a skin he can never rid himself of no matter how much he scratches and scrubs at the surface.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I will not leave you. I’m taking care of you, remember?” Azuma hums, reaching out to tuck some of the many stray ears back behind Homare’s ear.
“My dearest, you’re being unusually stubborn. I promise you, though thrive in your presence I do—and how much I long to hold you at all times, I will be fine. I will survive this cold because I see your endless warmth at the end of this tunnel,” the poet insists. “Would you enlighten me with what drives your insistence so? ...Could it be… is it —Oh.”
Even through all this, the smile Azuma wears never wavers.
Homare leans forward to take both his hands to hold them up in the space between them.
“Azuma. I will never leave you, and you have never left me,” red eyes meet yellow as he continues with a tone quieter than any of the ones he has used this whole day. “I never considered your going to practice to be you leaving me... I do apologize for reminding you of such a time.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Homare. You—,”
“But I still believe you should go to practice.”
Throwing all caution to the wind, Homare minimizes the distance to hold his dearest one close to him. His cold be damned as he embraces Azuma to offer some solace that just can’t wait for when his illness subsides.
...Homare is very, very cute. Especially like this.
“You are not alone, do you hear the sounds outside? I believe our other friends on this floor are having a scavenger hunt,” and sure enough, as Azuma rests his chin on Homare’s shoulder and closes his eyes to focus on the sounds, he hears it. He hears the chatter of Summer Troupe as they find their next triangle. “You’re not leaving me by going to practice. You are not alone, and I am not either. ”
“I know,” he starts, “I’ve known that for a while now. It’s just… nice to be reminded.”
“Then I’ll remind you every day,” Homare affirms, placing a kiss on Azuma’s hair before gently easing out of the embrace. “Make haste now, we don’t want you to be late for practice, do we?”
“Your way with words is as impeccable as ever, Homare,” he can’t help but comment. “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Homare wears another one of his brightest smiles once again and this time he feels no pain. “I’ll be here.”
——+——
The practice goes without any hitches. The director chose to focus on phantom gestures to refine scenes to make it so that Homare would not fall too behind while also having a productive rehearsal.
It shows how far their troupe has come when it becomes apparent there’s a phantom space they can never seem to quite fill even with their trained expertise. Azuma would maybe describe them as a six-piece jigsaw puzzle. Individually, they are each strong, but you know they are best with their other pieces. When they are put all together, they create a marvelous picture—or rather, a marvelous production. When one piece is missing of the six, no matter how hard you cut and carve the pieces, the viewer will always know there is a missing piece to the picture.
So that’s why Tsumugi, Tasuku, Hisoka, Azuma, and Guy found themselves in room 105. To ask the resident chef for his easiest best chicken soup recipe. Preferably one that includes carrots. Because they all miss Homare.
“...Azuma… is cutting all the carrot slices into hearts really necessary?” Tasuku asks with a barely contained grimace.
The obvious answer is no, but Azuma can’t help but do it anyway because this was something Homare would do for sure. Because he is really cute like that. And maybe it’s also because some of Homare’s flamboyance has rubbed off on Azuma due to how much time they spend together.
“Oh yes, this is absolutely necessary.”
——+——
Their final product definitely has a carrot to soup ratio that's 3:1, but Homare still loves it all the same. Maybe he likes it more this way, even.
“My dearest companions! I owe you many thanks for your munificence. I have been served many a fine meal in the course of my life thus far, but this one is certainly the most exquisite.”
“We’re very happy to hear you feel that way, Homare,” Tsumugi beams.
“I find myself captivated especially by these delicate carrot slices,” he cups a single slice in his spoon and stares, eyes glistening, nose disappearing as some poem comes to mind. “You all know not of the spring of inspiration that refuses to go bone dry in the face of feverish adversity—,”
“...Arisu. Your soup is getting cold.”
——+——
Sun long set and soup long gone, the occupants of the room dwindle down to Homare, Hisoka, and Azuma as the others leave to retire for the night. The latter having just come back from retrieving calming sleep incense from his room.
“Hisoka, why don’t you sleep in my room tonight? I’m sure Guy would appreciate the company.”
Listless as the narcoleptic’s expression may usually be, Azuma doesn’t miss the glimmer of excitement found in his eyes.
And maybe Hisoka is a little too quick to leave. Maybe he really wants to be with Guy. Maybe he doesn’t want to be a witness to Homare and Azuma’s affections for each other any more than he has to.
Then there were two.
“In spite of how taxing it is, perhaps falling to the ailments has its charms. For I get to spend all this time with you,” his boyfriend smiles down at him from atop the bunk bed. Even with the lights off, Homare’s smile lit up all the corners of the room.
Azuma has spent over a decade in solitary misery, and yet it’s moments like these—with Homare—that he realizes just how natural it was to feel something as simple as happiness.
“Mhm,” he hums as he climbs the ladder to the poet’s bed. “Would you let me take your temperature again? I have your medicine here as well.”
So Azuma takes his spot next to Homare once more.
*Beep*
“...Ninety-nine degrees. Your fever has gone down.”
“Such a feat was only made possible with you and company.”
“Fufu,” Azuma laughs as he takes back the medicine and sets it aside. He moves Homare’s bedding so he could join him under the covers. “You flatter.”
“My darling, you are sleeping here…?” Even though they are veiled in the darkness of the night, Homare’s wide eyes are hard to miss. “As elated as I am that you are here, I do think it would be best for you to sleep in Hisoka’s bed. I fear you may catch my cold.”
“I’m fine. There’s no place else where I’d rather be.”
“My dear.”
Homare’s very cute when he’s shy too.
“Goodnight sweetheart. I love you.”
Homare’s flinch doesn’t hurt him, it doesn’t. He is not ready and that’s fine. Azuma would wait forever for Homare to understand what it feels to love and be loved. That’s fine.
“It’s okay,” Azuma grasps Homare’s hand for more reassurance. “You don’t have to say it back. Goodn—”
His partner’s vulnerable concession snaps Homare out of the daze he’s in and the poor guy is scrambling to recollect himself.
“No! N-no. No. My d—Azuma. No,” shifting to hold Azuma’s hand between both of his. He sighs, dramatically, and defeatedly. “I was going to say it first. I was going to woo you.”
And how can he not kiss Homare when he’s like this.
“I’m woo’d by you every day.”
With a nasally voice, still so full of congestion, Homare says his piece. “I wrote a poem. A set of stanzas cannot begin to even convey the feelings I have for you, but this work is truly the pinnacle of my collection—and I do believe we both know just how esteemed this collection is.”
“Fufu. We know indeed.”
“I rented a boat, Azuma. And I must admit, our boat would only bear witness to the shallowest of waters because although a prodigy I may be, my endless talents can only reach so far until they encounter an asymptote. I had plans to serenade you. I was going to tell you the depths of my adoration—how much I love you.”
…
“...Azuma, my dear, as blessed as I am to hear your laughter and see you smile, this is no laughing matter.”
“...I love you very much, Homare. We can take the boat out as soon as you feel better. So go to sleep now.”
They’re really pushing it by sleeping side by side, so Azuma resists kissing his pout to instead move to kiss one of his cheeks instead.
“Goodnight sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, my love. I cannot wait to see you tomorrow.”