Chapter Text
While Kurosawa always wanted to visit Adachi’s apartment, he never quite imagined it happening like this. Squished against the door of a taxi after his sister uncomfortably squeezed herself in—because no matter what, back seats of cars truly were not meant to house three full grown adults—with Adachi apologizing to the driver before giving him his address. To his credit the driver simply nodded and started driving again.
Somehow, despite everything, Adachi managed to fall asleep in the taxi even while Kurosawa’s sister sandwiched him uncomfortably between them. His head swayed awkwardly with every turn and eventually he sank against Kurosawa, his breath evening out. It fanned against Kurosawa’s throat in an incredibly distracting fashion.
Kurosawa gripped his bag so hard his knuckles were white. Adachi was so warm—and yes part of that was because he was sick, but he was warm and leaning against Kurosawa—and he looked incredibly defenseless sleeping against Kurosawa’s shoulder.
Over Adachi’s head Kurosawa could see Mari watching him with a smirk and a raised brow. He shot her a warning glare.
“Don’t say a word,” he grit out. His glare sharpened when his sister moved to speak anyways, but they both stopped when Adachi let out a little noise of complaint. Kurosawa let go of his bag to try and adjust Adachi into a more comfortable position. Though it was a futile effort with just one hand.
“He looks really bad,” Mari said finally. Sighing Kurosawa nodded.
“He looked worse in the office, for what it’s worth,” he replied. Unable to stop himself he wrapped an arm around Adachi’s shoulder and shifted the two of them around so Adachi was more comfortably pressed against his side, his head tucked more securely into the curve of Kurosawa’s neck.
Mari tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking unbothered by it all. “Well, you better do a good job taking care of him.”
And Kurosawa resisted the urge to scowl at her. As if he would give Adachi anything but the best.
Adachi was awake by the time the taxi arrived at his apartment building. He stumbled a little as he stepped out and Kurosawa easily braced his arm around his waist, leading them away from the car with Mari still inside. If she insisted on both meddling in his affairs and stealing his apartment because she was having a childish tiff with her boyfriend, she might as well pay the taxi fare. It was the least she could do.
“Adachi? Which apartment is yours?” Kurosawa asked softly. Grumbling Adachi squinted at the stairs.
“Second floor. The door sticks, I’ll open it,” he mumbled. Kurosawa hovered anxiously behind Adachi as he practically dragged himself up the steps by the railing. But once he got to the top it was as if he caught a second wind.
Shaking his head wildly, Adachi’s eyes looked a lot brighter as he shuffled towards his apartment. He pulled his keys out from the front pocket of his bag—it was on a cute chubby penguin keychain—before stuffing it into the lock. Once he opened his door though he fidgeted with the knob.
“Uhm. You’re welcome to come in,” Adachi mumbled. He sounded incredibly congested.
“I’m sorry, my sister only thinks of herself,” Kurosawa apologized immediately. He motioned to the door and Adachi pushed it open. “Here, I’ll fix you something to eat first and I can find a business hotel for the night.”
“No, uh it’ssshachoo!” Adachi sneezed violently.
Kurosawa jolted and immediately began herding Adachi through the open door. “Are you okay? Go on, get inside!”
He didn’t mean to push but panic was quickly flooding into his chest. Rushing inside the door slammed shut behind them—Kurosawa would apologize to Adachi’s neighbors for him—as they stumbled through the entryway with their shoes still on. Adachi yelped and dropped his bag on the floor.
“Kurosawa I’m fine—”
“You can’t let yourself catch a chill, hurry get into bed—” Kurosawa nearly bit his tongue when his foot caught on something and they both went tumbling down. Adachi’s arms shot out to cover his face as they both landed on his bed.
“Ah!” Adachi gasped. And that was a sound that would live in Kurosawa’s memory forever. Biting his tongue his whole body went warm as he stared down at Adachi’s face.
Red faced with a sheen of sweat tracing past his neck and sweet, teary eyes peering up through his lashes. This position was bad news. He didn’t even mean for them to fall onto the bed like this. Instinct and reason began brawling in his own mind as Adachi squinted up at him, tilting his chin in a way that exposed more of his pale throat. Kurosawa’s mouth went dry at the sight of it.
Who jumps sick people? He had to snap out of it. What if Adachi started hating him? This was bad for Kurosawa’s heart. Under him Adachi shifted uncomfortably.
Right. Right. He was here to take care of Adachi. Kurosawa had to get a hold of himself.
“Maybe,” Kurosawa forced himself to say, “you have a fever. I’ll go get a thermometer.”
And with that he pushed himself off the bed and forced himself to walk away, far too conscious of every step he took. Honestly he wasn’t even sure where Adachi might keep a thermometer or cold medicine, but the bathroom seemed like as good of a guess as any. And it would give Kurosawa some privacy to gather his wits about him. So with that he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
How could a bathroom be cute? Kurosawa didn’t understand it but somehow Adachi’s bathroom was adorable. His bathmat was a fairly generic white one and his towels were navy blue and incredibly fluffy. On the sink was a souvenir mug from Yamato Museum with a bright yellow toothbrush plopped inside of it.
Opening the cabinets Kurosawa idly began to mentally note the things he saw. Basic mint flavored Aquafresh toothpaste, Curél body lotion, generic hand soap. There was an expensive looking razor with a metal handle on the sink beside a glass bottle of aftershave. And hidden in the corner was a well used bottle of cologne that Kurosawa valiantly kept his hands off of. The cologne and the aftershave looked expensive, maybe they were gifts? Probably from his father. If they were, then Kurosawa wanted to thank whoever gave them to Adachi because Adachi always smelled incredible.
Ah, there was an open pack of cold medicine. Checking the packaging it luckily wasn’t past its best by date. But there wasn’t a thermometer or even a pack of cooling patches. Carefully moving things around Kurosawa frowned.
For someone who lived alone Adachi was incredibly underprepared for the potential of getting sick.
“Adachi?” Kurosawa called out. No reply. Leaning through the doorway he blinked a few times in surprise. Adachi was lying prone, half under his blanket and still wearing his suit. Did he fall asleep? Medicine in hand Kurosawa shuffled out of the bathroom back towards the bed. As he got closer he could hear the way Adachi’s breath whistled.
“Adachi?” Kurosawa repeated, whispering this time. But Adachi didn’t respond. The tips of his fingers didn’t even twitch when Kurosawa knelt down on the floor.
Moving slowly Kurosawa gently adjusted the blanket around Adachi.
This was unbearable. Adachi’s face was mashed into his pillow, his cheek squished like marshmallow filling. His entire face looked even softer than fresh mochi, and the flush looked like it had died down a little now that he was properly asleep.
‘An Angel Sleeping Soundly’ was the title of this masterpiece. If only Kurosawa could take a picture to memorialize it, but that was improper and far beyond the line in the sand. Not to mention the sound of the camera shutter would wake Adachi up. And there was no need to do that when Adachi was sleeping so peacefully.
It wouldn’t do for him to sleep in his suit though. Putting the medicine on the bedside table Kurosawa gently shook Adachi’s shoulder.
“Adachi,” he whispered, “Come on, you should change.”
Adachi didn’t move at all. His breath continued to whistle a little. This time Kurosawa couldn’t help but gently trace the curve of his cheek.
“Hey, come on,” he clucked. But he couldn’t actually find it in himself to be irritated, not when Adachi’s sleeping face was still so adorable. Really, it should be a crime to look so cute while sleeping. But then Adachi would get in trouble, and Kurosawa wouldn’t be able to see him anymore if being cute was a crime.
Suddenly Adachi snuffled, twitching away from Kurosawa’s touch before curling in on himself. And Kurosawa’s heart stopped.
“What the hell am I doing?”
Rising to his feet Kurosawa moved to go—somewhere. Just somewhere else in the apartment to gather himself. But as he rose his arm was suddenly jerked back, and he just barely managed to awkwardly land on the very edge of the mattress. He stared at his arm as if it wasn’t attached to his body, because Adachi’s hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist. So tightly that it was starting to hurt, actually. When did that happen?
Kurosawa moved as if he was encased in some sort of gelatine, his actions slow as if his brain wasn’t fully in control. With his other hand he tried to peel Adachi’s fingers off. But he found it couldn’t.
“Ah, um.” He didn’t know what to do. Because his wrist was firmly in Adachi’s grasp and yet simultaneously Adachi was still clearly asleep.
Before his brain could really decide what to do Adachi’s face scrunched up—far too adorable, he was like a little bunny—and Kurosawa grunted as he was pulled onto the bed. He rolled uncomfortably over Adachi and found himself squished next to the wall, Adachi’s leg thrown over his own knees as if Kurosawa was a body pillow. His face flushed as his heart began to lodge itself in his throat.
Oh. Oh this was dangerously bad for his heart. Lying like this Kurosawa could feel Adachi’s breath ghosting over his throat all hot and damp. Staring at the ceiling Adachi’s hair tickled the underside of his chin as his clothes rustled from Adachi gripping him around the chest.
“Adachi?” Kurosawa hissed through clenched teeth. Predictably Adachi didn’t respond. He simply dragged Kurosawa impossibly closer before settling again. The blanket was wrapped and twisted awkwardly around their bodies from the strange maneuvering that got them in this position in the first place. If they kept lying here like this their clothes would be ruined, and it wasn’t as if Kurosawa had a change of clothes for tomorrow.
Wiggling in place he tried to see if there was any way to get out of his predicament. That only resulted in Adachi’s leg hitching even higher and his nose pressing into Kurosawa’s collar.
Hissing Kurosawa’s head fell back against the mattress with a soft whump. There was no way out of this. Not unless Adachi woke up. But then Kurosawa would have to wake him up, and while the thought of Adachi’s sleepy face was appealing the resulting flurry of embarrassment would be too hard on his already tender heart.
He didn’t know what to do.
Kurosawa ended up lying there for a very long time.
Kurosawa wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed before Adachi finally began stirring awake. Judging from the way the light shifted from the window though it was at least sunset now and Adachi’s whole apartment was bathed in a rather soothing orange light. Beside him Adachi shifted and curled with a slight whine.
Swallowing Kurosawa chanced it. “Adachi?”
A drowsy hum was his response. Then Adachi shifted a little, blinking blearily at Kurosawa with a little pout and his eyebrows furrowed together.
“Wuh?” Adachi mumbled. Kurosawa shook his head and carefully began to sat up. Adachi’s arm fell from his chest and onto his lap. With a gentle hand Kurosawa rolled Adachi over and tucked him in.
“You’re up,” Kurosawa said, if only to distract himself a little more, “Come on, it’s been a few hours but you need to change and take some medicine. You can go back to bed after.”
Hurriedly Kurosawa shuffled off of the bed, pulling his suit jacket and tie off the second he was back on his own two feet. As he busied himself with laying both on Adachi’s table he could hear Adachi sit up. Looking over his shoulder Kurosawa watched the way Adachi continued to blink and stare blankly ahead of him without really seeing anything.
Swallowing thickly Kurosawa looked around the apartment. Luckily there was a set of loungewear carefully kicked onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He must have knocked them away when he stood up. Grabbing both the sweater and the sweatpants he held them out to Adachi.
“… thanks,” Adachi murmured as he grabbed the clothes. He spread them across his lap but didn’t move again as he blinked slowly.
Was the dazed expression because of his cold or because he just woke up? Kurosawa hadn’t been able to tell if Adachi had a fever, and with how warm his own skin was he didn’t trust himself to be able to tell from touch alone.
Coughing awkwardly he knelt down beside the bed and began to undo Adachi’s tie. Luckily that seemed to kick start something in Adachi’s muscle memory as he began to peel his jacket off. There was a heavy crease on the side he was laying on but with a good ironing session that could easily be dealt with.
Kurosawa hurriedly turned away, pretending to be busy with rolling up Adachi’s tie, when Adachi began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt.
Peeking over his shoulder he sighed in relief when he saw that Adachi was struggling to pull his sweater on. Taking the button up shirt and undershirt in hand he stood up, gingerly tugging on the bottom of the sweater to straighten it out as Adachi’s head popped out of the neckline.
Adachi smiled at him, all pink faced and fuzzy looking.
“Thank you, Kurosawa,” he mumbled, his voice still sleep soft and nasally. Immediately Kurosawa’s heart thudded against his ribs.
“It’s nothing,” he replied. Shifting the clothes in his arms he straightened his shoulders. “Here, I’ll hang these up and get you some water, then you can take some medicine. Hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
And he did just that. Kurosawa found two hangers—one for his own wrinkled suit and the other for Adachi’s—before busying himself in the kitchen. As he filled up a glass that was drying next to the sink he could hear Adachi moving around, most likely to change out of his pants and socks as well.
Once the cup was full Kurosawa just stood in the kitchen, staring down the sink drain.
There was no way this could end well. He would be lucky if he got out of this whole situation with only a battered heart. While Adachi wasn’t mean in any way, there couldn’t be any way he would wake up without feeling—what, disgusted? Horrified? About forcibly pulling Kurosawa into his bed while sleeping. It was unintentional, but it would be embarrassing and uncomfortable. And where would that leave them?
Shuffling back towards the bed Kurosawa handed Adachi the water before absently popping out a pill from the blister pack and into Adachi’s upturned palm. Adachi swallowed it down easily before sliding the glass onto his nightstand.
“Thank you for this,” Adachi said suddenly. He was staring up at Kurosawa, his face glowing warmly in the quick dwindling sunset.
“It’s nothing,” Kurosawa responded. But Adachi shook his head.
“You didn’t need to do all of this…” Adachi trailed off in a yawn. Then he motioned with one hand, “You’re very kind, Kurosawa.”
Kind. It was a word Kurosawa heard describing himself many times, but it felt weighty and warm coming out of Adachi’s mouth. Like it actually meant something this time as it was spoken.
Patting Adachi’s shoulder Kurosawa shook his head. “I’m only doing what’s right.”
“So humble too. No wonder people at work like you.” Adachi blinked slowly, content like a happy cat. Kurosawa bit his tongue as he watched how Adachi eventually blinked himself back to sleep. His breath evened out, no longer whistling now that his face wasn’t squished directly into his pillow.
Sitting on the floor beside the bed Kurosawa kept vigil. When Adachi began to kick uncomfortably under the covers Kurosawa rushed to get a cold cloth to lay over his forehead. After an hour he unbuttoned his own shirt and hung it on the same hanger as his jacket. And when the time came for the next dose of medicine, he gently shook Adachi awake. It went easier this time as Adachi woke without complaint and took the medicine quietly. He didn’t exactly seem awake, though with how his cup tilted dangerously on his knee. So Kurosawa took the cup and put it to the side.
However when Kurosawa expected Adachi to simply roll back over, he found himself once again pulled onto the bed.
“Ah, Adachi?” Kurosawa yelped. He was saying Adachi’s name a lot today, and the shape of it was becoming familiar in his mouth. Adachi didn’t say anything. He simply sighed as if he were happy with the turn of events before wrapping himself around Kurosawa’s body once again.
Adachi Kiyoshi. Mousy, diligent, attractive, and somewhat of an octopus in his sleep. Who knew? Kurosawa didn’t, and now he was paying the price for his ignorance.
There was no way Kurosawa would survive this. Not at all.