Work Text:
There is gum on the footpath. It was the first thing Kiyoi noticed when he stepped out into the open air away from the overwhelming bustle of the train station. It looked like it had been there for days, hard and stuck, slowly on its way to being blended into the mosaic of debris under passersby's feet. He was tired, and felt gross after a few days of travelling, so the careless discarding of the gum made him a little woozy and his stomach curled
A few of the idols they’d been travelling with had been knocked down with the flu a few days ago which caused a cancellation on their tour and meant that Kiyoi could steal away with his boyfriend. But as his stomach rumbled and nausea clawed its way up his throat the actor wasn’t convinced he’d gotten away scot-free. Hira was behind him, landing with both their bags was doing nothing to discredit the claims of him being a workhorse, he was silent except for a few shuffles as if he was as impatient to get to the Airbnb as Kiyoi was. He probably was, but in Kiyoi’s state it just pissed him off, he felt like Hira was hovering and had not a single ounce of patience left inside him to deal with that.
“Are you just going to stand there? Call an Uber already.” He snapped in Japanese.
A few heads turned in his direction but he trusted the country to be just white enough that no one in the vicinity would understand him. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t that big in Japan yet let alone the rest of the world, but if he was out here yelling in his broken English he might attract too many unwanted eyes. He was already tempted to stamp his foot like a child. Kiyoi just wanted to go to bed, maybe have a shower first, and will away the clammy feeling in his mouth.
Hira had scrambled to obey, hand reaching into one of the man pockets of his carryon and expertly typing in the address as he’d memorized it, he probably had, that pissed Kiyoi off more and he rolled his eyes. His boyfriend stuttered out an arrival time and Kiyoi wanted to blame him for it not arriving exactly when he wanted it. But instead just huffed and decided if he would throw up before the fourteen minutes had passed.
There was a vending machine just inside the station and he weighed up the benefits of trying his luck for it to one: being working, two: have ginger ale, and three: being worth the crowd going back in. He considered sending Hira to do it, but he did not want to be saddled alone with their bags while his boyfriend wrestled with the English machine. Hira could barely read basic English on a good day, and today was not a good day.
Kiyoi ended up founcing back inside telling Hira to wait. The machine was scratched up and red, advertising cola products and because Kiyoi had zero luck had nothing even remotely close to what he wanted. He chose a Sprite and because he wasn’t a monster got water for Hira as well. Ignoring his nausea he fed one of his random foreign notes into the machine. It spat out too many coins and gave him the drinks nice and refrigerated. He took a few long swigs and while he didn’t love the taste the carbonation and sugar seemed to settle his stomach. He held the bottle up to his heated face and took a few deep breaths.
This was their first trip together and he wanted it to go well, Hira had been around as they toured but they had barely spent more than a meal together in weeks. He’d just wanted it to go well, but between cancelled trains, almost lost passports, and this hot damp heat Kiyoi was ready for the flu to knock him out and just prove that he couldn’t even organise a single romantic long weekend for Hira. He hated it, he hated failing, and right now he was ready to just fall to the floor and wish the day away.
Instead, he rallied himself and exited the station to see an anxious Hira loading up their ride. He passed over his water and then settled into the backseat, halfheartedly greeting the driver.
Two hours later had them showered and fed, their shoes neatly by the door and their suitcases unpacked because Hira would rather die than let Kiyoi live out of a suitcase if he could do anything about it. Kiyoi was grateful their host had got them a few bits to eat as requested by his manager, the idea of braving a foreign supermarket this late made his skin crawl. Hira was stroking his hair as he lay in his lap and Kiyoi knew he’d probably be sick in the night but was too exhausted to care. If he was then at least he’d been here attended by his favorite person rather than quarantined like his coworkers.
“Do you want to go to bed?” He asked because he did.
Hira humed in assent and paused to let Kiyoi stand up. Instead, he pulled himself into a sitting position and raised his arms.
“Carry me.” There would have been a time when he’d been embarrassed to ask, but he was small, and Hira was built like a literal rock, all slim muscle, not an ounce of fat. So yes he’s going to be carried if he wants to be carried.
The bed was too soft, he felt as if he was unravelled from his kola hold on Hira and onto the bed. Most western beds were, but this one particularly was unnerving, so he did the only sensible thing he could do and drape himself entirely over Hira once he settled in, ignoring the stuttering complaints and forcing him to be his pillow.
When he did get sick in the middle of the night, like he knew he would, he let Hira fret over him knowing that if it was going to be the worst first trip, at least they were doing it together. Set the bar low so they could blow it out of the water next time. And hopefully, they’ll be somewhere where people don’t just throw their used gum on the pavement.