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The world was spinning around him.
Hira blinked at the table he had set, seeing but not taking in the two bowls of rice topped with a sunny-side egg or the plates with buttered toast. He forgot something but couldn't place a finger on it. The drinks; he couldn't leave Kiyoi thirsty first thing in the morning while having breakfast.
Dizziness overtook him for a second as he moved to get up, not bad enough to fall over, but enough to grip at the edge of the table for balance.
This was it, he thought. God had finally realized he had taken more than he should and was righting the fluke they had overlooked. The last few months in bliss - living with Kiyoi; making all his meals for him; welcoming him home every day, even when he was out late working; sleeping with him - could not last.
"Hira?" He heard from behind him, and Kiyoi's hands, so cool against his skin, were on him before Hira knew it, followed by Kiyoi's face right next to his, lips set in a thin line. "Are you okay? You're burning up."
"I'm sorry, I don't think I can prepare your bento today," Hira said, lowering his eyes, unable to meet Kiyoi's gaze. "I think I'm gonna die."
Kiyoi clicked his tongue. Hira was halfway through another apology when he caught sight of a porcelain spoon, full of egg yolk-soaked rice, offered to him. By Kiyoi. Who had scooted closer to him at some point, so close he could smell the body wash he always used and the scent of shampoo emanating from his still-wet hair.
Hira stared at him with wide eyes, his heart racing so fast at the sight that he was lightheaded again.
"Can you eat?" Kiyoi said, holding the spoon closer to his mouth. "An empty stomach's no good when you're sick."
Hira stammered out that he could eat by himself as he took the spoon from Kiyoi's hand. They ate in silence, Hira's heart still stuttering in his chest as he couldn't get the image of Kiyoi trying to feed him from his head. He choked on a mouthful and reached for his cup, only to realize — the drinks, he'd never gotten around to getting them.
To Hira's horror, he heard Kiyoi say he'd get it and saw him leave for the kitchen before Hira could get a hold of his oversized hoodie. He came back moments later, bottle of ginger ale in hand, and poured Hira a cup.
"But it's yours," Hira protested, peering into the pale yellow liquid.
Kiyoi placed a hand over Hira's holding his cup and guided it closer to his mouth. "Drink it," he ordered, "The ginger is good for you."
Hira downed the cup in one big gulp and heard Kiyoi sigh besides him. He looked at him in question, but Kiyoi only shook his head. "Do you want to lay down?"
Kiyoi reached out for him after he nodded, moving to loop an arm around his torso, and Hira recoiled at the touch. "It's okay," he said as he moved to get up from the floor, "I can walk; I'm not as lightheaded now."
Hira heard another sigh behind him, Kiyoi following close behind. Hira threw himself on the mattress and to his surprise, Kiyoi didn't leave but instead sat by the bed besides him.
"Shouldn't you be going to class soon?"
"I'm not going," Kiyoi said, helping Hira get beneath the covers. "I'll stay and take care of you."
Hira shot up on the bed. "You can't — I mean, you shouldn't skip because of me."
Kiyoi snorted in answer. "I miss all the time because of work. One more day won't hurt."
"But —"
"Hira," Kiyoi said, his tone dangerously low. Hira pressed his lips shut that same instant, his posture turning rigid, his hands fisting the bedsheets. A new wave of apologies surged on his tongue, but he forced himself to hold them in, sensing Kiyoi's annoyance. "Are you arguing with me?"
"O-of course not."
"Then sleep," Kiyoi ordered in that tone Hira was so familiar with. The one he obeyed without question, always, laying back down on the mattress and closing his eyes without another word.
His limbs felt even heavier now and he was even more aware of the dull pain in his joints. Hira was about to fall asleep as ordered when something cool touched his forehead. He opened his eyes to see Kiyoi close to him, putting a humid cloth over his head.
"You should go to class," Hira mumbled.
"I'll do what I want," Kiyoi answered. He grabbed another cloth, wet it on a basin of water he had brought at some point, and turned towards him. Met his gaze with an intensity Hira wanted but couldn't turn away from. "And right now, I want to take care of my boyfriend."
Hira squirmed at his words. To make matters worse, Kiyoi began to pat him down around the crook of his neck. There was no relief from the heat, however; the cold cloth left a hot trail on Hira's skin that shot straight to his groin. Of all things to happen, as if God was not already punishing him for taking too much, and yet his greed knew no bounds. Hira turned away from his touch and pulled the bed sheets over his head. "Please don't do that."
It took some time for Kiyoi to answer. "Ok," he said and Hira felt him place a hand over his spine.
"You should go to class," Hira repeated. "There's no point in taking care of me."
"Hira, you said you might die."
"I've already been so greedy," Hira moaned out, pulling the covers even closer to himself. "If you do even m-more than how else am I going to make up for it?"
The hand that had been on his back disappeared. Kiyoi didn't answer. Hira thought he heard steps and relaxed as it seemed Kiyoi had left him alone. He closed his eyes; his body ached all over.
He was almost asleep when the bed sheets were pulled away from him, the light harsh against his eyes as he tried to see what was going on.
Before he knew it, Kiyoi had stuck a thermometer into his mouth. Seeing Kiyoi's pursed lips, the furrow of his brows, Hira didn't dare say anything. He handed the thermometer back to Kiyoi once it beeped.
"Thirty eight point four degrees," Kiyoi read with a sigh. "Not too high that you're delirious. Good. Here, take this," and he handed him a cup of water and a few pills.
Hira took the medicine obediently and didn't resist as Kiyoi guided him back on the mattress, going so far as to putting the covers over him again, albeit only up to his shoulders this time. Setting another freshly soaked humid cloth over his forehead. He didn't leave as Hira had hoped, instead laying down next to him, cellphone in hand.
"Sleep," Kiyoi said without taking his eyes off the screen. "I'll be here if you need anything."
"I still think you should go to class," Hira said and, at the force of Kiyoi's glare, along with the loud click of his tongue, turned on his side without another word and closed his eyes.
The cloth that had fallen off his head was placed back, unfolded to cover his forehead and the side of his head. A hand settled on his back again.
Despite himself, Hira focused on the softness of the touch.
If this was really it, if God really would rectify the fluke soon, he might as well bask in what little time he had.