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The first text came at 6:42 a.m.
Sakura: Not coming in. Small cold.
Nirei was halfway through tying his uniform tie, phone balanced on his knee. He stared at the screen, reading the caveman-like message. Small cold, huh? The last time Sakura said “small,” he’d fainted in the streets after a harsh blow to the head.
The boys had been too worried when Sakura didn’t give notice before, so they made a pact after the first time he was sick. It wasn’t formal; nothing at Furin ever is.
If Sakura wasn’t okay, he promised to text someone. If he texted anyone, at least one person would tell the rest and go check. Nirei himself had written Sakura Health Protocol on a page in his journal.
Rule #1: Don’t let him brush it off.
Rule #2: Water first, then food.
Rule #3: Don’t hover. (Suo had stolen his journal to write that one with an arrow pointing at Nirei’s name. Nirei had crossed out his name and written ‘Suo’ above it, which Suo had graciously ignored.)
Nirei typed back, sweaty fingers clumsy with hurry.
Nirei: got it! are you getting plenty of rest? 👀
Nirei: need me to get you anything???
Three gray dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.
Sakura: Fine. Sleep. Don't come.
A beat, then another message, like he couldn’t help himself.
Sakura: Please don't tell Umemiya.
Nirei huffed a breath through his nose that was almost a laugh. He could hear Umemiya’s voice already. “Young people heal with sunlight and soup! Let’s all go bring him soup!” and pictured the entire rooftop garden marching to Sakura’s apartment. Okay, maybe Sakura was right about not telling Umemiya yet.
If a secret part of Nirei was happy to have Sakura all to himself, no one had to know.
He stared at the clock. He could make it to school, then swing by Sakura’s after patrols. However, the Sakura Health Protocol had a Rule #4. This time written in Sugashita’s painfully neat handwriting. Earlier is better. Nirei had no idea when he stole his journal.
Nirei grabbed his backpack and stuffed it with provisions: sports drinks, instant miso, rice porridge packets, and the soft face towel Anzai had rolled his eyes at when Nirei bought it (“You’re not his mom”). He hesitated, then threw in a fresh thermometer and a tiny humidifier with cat ears he’d found on sale last month and hadn’t admitted to anyone he’d bought. It just reminded him of someone.
On his way out, he texted Suo.
Nirei: heads-up!!! sakura’s sick at home. he says its small but imma go check. 👍
Suo: Keep me posted.
Suo: Don’t let him pretend he can fight a fever.
Nirei: i know
Suo: And tell him I said rest.
Nirei: got it🫡
Nirei shoved his phone into his pocket, heart speeding up in anticipation for reasons he didn’t want to think about, and headed towards Sakura’s.
Getting to his building meant going through the town and having to tell everyone who asked why he was heading to Sakura’s. All the townspeople in Makochi adored Sakura, which meant Nirei was carrying a lot of extra provisions when he reached the place.
Nirei climbed up the stairs, balancing all the bags, trying not to make too much noise, and knocked.
Silence.
Nirei was about to just barge in there (something Suo would’ve done right away, but he had manners) when he heard the muffled sounds of something bumping and a groan. The door opened a crack. A sliver of Sakura’s face appeared, hair a mess and eyes too hazy.
“…Nirei?” Sakura’s voice came out rough, like he’d tried not to use it and it betrayed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why are you here? Go to Furin.” Clearing his throat didn’t seem to help.
“You texted me.” Nirei said matter-of-factly, flustered at Sakura’s disheveled appearance and voice.
“I texted you to not come,” Sakura said, forehead pressing briefly to the doorframe like even holding it open took effort. “It’s just a cold.” Small shivers, unnoticeable to anyone else but probably Nirei, wracked his body.
“Let me in,” Nirei responded, as steady as he could. “Or I’m calling Umemiya.”
A beat. Sakura glared weakly. Then he sighed and stepped back, the door swinging wider.
The apartment was a little more filled out than the last time Nirei and Suo had been there, with things his classmates had given him. The kitchen was cleaner, and the separate bedroom beyond held a folded blanket and a pillow, his “bed.” A couple of extra blankets they’d all chipped in to buy were piled there like a cozy nest. A box of tissues sat on the floor beside a half-empty water bottle. It looked like the only full one aside from several empties scattered across the floor.
“You look rough.” The words escaped Nirei’s mouth before he could stop them.
Sakura scowled, his default expression, cheeks heating with a flush that might’ve been fever or embarrassment or both. “Thanks. You always know what to say.”
Nirei turned on the bedroom light and set the bag on the ground. “Sit,” he said gently.
“I am sitting.” Sakura swallowed. “You don’t have to—”
“Rule #1,” Nirei said, pulling out bottles. “Don’t let you brush it off.”
Sakura’s mouth twitched. “Can’t believe you wrote that.”
“All the guys have a copy of it now.” Nirei shook a sports drink, cracked it open, and pressed it into Sakura’s hands. “Small sips.”
Sakura accepted it like a truce flag. He looked smaller when he was sick, Nirei thought. Not in presence, never that, but in the set of his shoulders, in the way he leaned before he remembered to steady himself. Normally he moved like a blade: sharp, straight, and uncompromising. Today he looked like someone had sheathed him in cotton.
“How bad?” Nirei asked, crouching to plug the cat-ear humidifier into the wall. It purred to life, soft steam curling from its ears. Sakura stared, then narrowed his eyes.
“Is that… a cat?”
“No.” Nirei adjusted the angle so it pointed towards Sakura. “Maybe.”
Sakura blinked at the steam like it had offended him, took a sip of the drink, and grimaced. “It’s warm.”
“It’s better that way,” Nirei said. “Less shock.”
Sakura made a face but kept drinking.
They did the small things first. Nirei dampened the towel and set it on Sakura’s forehead. He checked the fever: 38.6°C. He coaxed two more cups of water into him. Between instructions, Sakura tried to argue on principle, eyes drifting and then snapping back, as if he could hold himself upright by will alone. Nirei didn’t argue back. He just did the things that needed doing: set water within reach, tucked the blanket around Sakura’s shoulders, made instant miso and rice porridge, and tested the temperature with his wrist like he’d watched Umemiya do a thousand times.
“You’re good at this,” Sakura muttered when the container warmed his hands. It sounded like an accusation, which meant it was actually praise.
Nirei shrugged. “Practice.”
“At taking care of sick people?”
“At taking care of you,” Nirei said before he could catch himself.
The miso steamed between them. Sakura’s lashes fluttered. The flush on his cheeks deepened. Nirei pretended to adjust the humidifier so he didn’t have to meet his eyes.
They ate. Sakura took two slow spoonfuls at a time, pausing between, like the energy it took to swallow surprised him. The apartment settled around them: the hum of the fridge, a car passing below, and the soft hiss of the humidifier.
When Sakura finished, he leaned back against the bedroom wall with a sigh that tugged at something in Nirei’s chest. “You can… go,” Sakura said, which was Sakura for ‘please don’t; I don’t know how to ask.’
“I’m staying until the fever breaks.”
Sakura’s eyes slid to him, defiant and hopeful at once. “Don’t you have things to do?”
“Can’t a vice-captain take care of his captain?” Nirei whined a little. “I can just write an apology essay.”
Sakura huffed, which might have been a laugh if he’d had more breath. He swallowed, face scrunching. His hand came up, seeking blindly, and landed on Nirei’s wrist. “Don’t go,” he said, quiet in a way that felt like a secret. “Please.”
It hit like a punch. Nirei put his other hand over Sakura’s and squeezed once. “Okay.”
The fever carried Sakura in and out like waves. When he slept, he slept hard, twitching at noises, eyelashes damp. When he woke, he drifted, eyes glassy, mouth loose with honesty he wouldn’t let himself have at school. Nirei sat on the floor beside the futon and texted updates to the first-year’s group chat.
Nirei: 38.6 to 38.2, drinking water. not dying.
Suo: Make him switch to porridge in an hour.
Anzai: Did he take meds??
Nirei: yes!
Tsuguera: Tell him to fight the virus with his fists 💪
Kiryu: tell sakura i’m very proud of him and i have a hug waiting for him
Sugashita: Do not tell him that. He’ll get embarrassed and refuse to rest.
Nirei: sugashita? youre texting?
Sakura stirred around noon, hand still on Nirei’s wrist like he’d forgotten to let go. He blinked blearily at the ceiling. “Why are you still here?” he asked, tone accusing.
“You’re still sick,” Nirei said. “I’m the support unit.”
Sakura’s mouth quirked. “You’re dumb.”
“You always say that when you don’t know how to say thank you.”
Sakura’s eyes slid to him again, less glassy. “Thank you,” he said, stubborn.
Nirei swallowed. “You’re welcome.”
They fell into a rhythm. Water, meds, porridge. Fever check. Damp towel swap. Sakura’s hair stuck to his forehead in the gentlest curls. Nirei brushed it back more than was strictly necessary, fingers careful, pretending it was just so the towel would sit right. Sakura closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a cat pretending it wasn’t a cuddle.
Around two, the fever spiked again. Sakura whimpered once, a tiny sound that made Nirei’s hands go cold. He scooted closer on instinct. “Hey.” He kept his voice low and gentle. “I’m here.”
Sakura’s fingers found his sleeve, fisted weakly, then loosened. “You smell like books,” he said, deliriously offended.
“Thank you?”
“It’s nice.” Sakura’s eyes were unfocused; that open place the fever made in him widened until it felt like Nirei could see the person underneath the posture. “You’re nice.”
Nirei’s ears went warm. “Don’t say things you’ll deny later.”
“I won’t,” Sakura mumbled, stubborn even drowsy. He tried to sit up and tipped sideways. Nirei caught him without thinking. Somehow that turned into Sakura using Nirei’s shoulder as a pillow, breath warm against Nirei’s collarbone.
“Is this okay?” Nirei asked, very still.
Sakura nodded into his shirt, a small sound escaping that could have been words or nothing at all. His hand slid clumsily from Nirei’s sleeve to Nirei’s fingers and curled there, holding on like he’d reached out in a dark room and finally found a wall.
Nirei looked at their hands. He could count the pulse in Sakura’s thumb against his own. He could hear every sound in the apartment: the humidifier’s purr, the tick of the cheap wall clock, and Sakura’s breath hitching and evening out. It felt too intimate and somehow inevitable. His hands were sweaty again.
“You’re warm,” Sakura murmured, words barely shaped. “You always… I knew you would be.”
Nirei didn’t trust his voice. He just hummed and let Sakura’s weight sink into him. The fever rolled back down again, slowly. Time stretched thin and sweet.
At some point, Sakura started talking in fever-dream fragments, and Nirei learned more than he’d meant to. Snatches of a darker past and things he would deny ever saying. At one point, he even said Nirei’s name like it belonged in his mouth already.
“Nirei,” Sakura breathed, somewhere between waking and not. “You… you make it easy to rest. I hate that.”
“Why?” The word came out raw.
“Because then I want to.” Sakura’s lashes fluttered. He squeezed Nirei’s hand once, as if that finished the thought, and drifted again.
Nirei stared at the ceiling until his eyes stung. He didn’t move for a long time.
When the fever broke for real, it did it without drama. One moment, Sakura was too hot under the towel; the next, he shivered. Nirei changed the towel for a dry one and tucked the blanket in closer.
“You’re doing great,” he said softly.
Sakura made a suspicious noise. “Don’t you dare praise me for lying down and being weak.”
“I’ll praise you for breathing evenly.”
“Stupid.”
“Mm.”
They dozed like that, leaning on each other, until the room dimmed and the light through the curtains turned the air honey-thick. Sakura woke properly with a soft grunt and tried to sit up too fast again. Nirei’s hand on his shoulder kept him from wobbling.
“You stayed,” Sakura said, like he’d been arguing with himself about whether that could be true.
“Yeah.”
Sakura’s mouth made a small, surprised shape. He looked at the humidifier, at the empty bowl, at Nirei’s bag open on the floor. He swallowed. “Thanks,” he said. The word was quiet and awkward and sincere and very Sakura.
Nirei nodded, throat tight. “Anytime.” He meant it with his whole heart.
Sakura hesitated, then leaned forward, quick and clumsy. Nirei didn’t realize what was happening until Sakura’s lips brushed his cheek. Warm, fever-soft, lingering a heartbeat longer than a joke would allow.
He pulled back, face crimson, eyes darting anywhere but Nirei’s. “For… um. Your hard work,” he muttered, like he was turning in an assignment late.
Nirei’s brain short-circuited and then rebooted with a fizz. “R-right,” he said brilliantly.
Sakura groaned and pulled the blanket over his face. “I’m delirious. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did,” Nirei said, sudden courage bubbling up, light as steam from a cat humidifier. “But you can take it back tomorrow if you want.”
Silence. Then the blanket shifted, and one suspicious eye peered out. “No.”
Nirei let himself smile, small and bright. “Okay.”
He made one more round of water, meds, and porridge; sent one more update to the chat (Nirei: alive; 37.5; will kill anyone who comes over); and set the humidifier on a timer. He gathered his things. Sakura glowered at him for daring to be helpful and then softened in the same breath.
“Text me when you get home,” Sakura said.
“You text me if your fever goes up.”
“Annoying.”
Nirei stood in the doorway, hand braced on the frame. “I’ll check again tomorrow morning before class.”
“You don’t have to—” Sakura started, then shut his mouth and tried again. “Okay.”
Nirei nodded and turned to go.
“Nirei.”
He glanced back. Sakura’s hair was a mess, eyes still tired but clearer now, the fever’s gloss burned off. He looked like himself again and like someone new.
“Thank you,” Sakura said. The words sounded lighter this time, like they’d been waiting to be used. “For real.”
Nirei swallowed around the ache in his chest and saluted awkwardly with two fingers. “Anytime,” he said again, because it was true in a way that felt huge.
He left before he could say something even stupider, immediately regretting the salute.
Nirei only made it two and a half days before he woke up aching and cursing the concept of a cold. The group chat roasted him (“Karma,” Suo wrote; “weak,” Anzai countered; “stay away from me,” Sugashita threatened), and Nirei stuffed his face into his pillow and groaned.
Sakura rarely looked at the group chat since having a phone was still overwhelming for him.
So it really surprised Nirei when he looked through the door peephole after hearing a knock and found Sakura waiting there.
He scrambled to look presentable: sweatshirt, blanket, hair shoved in one direction. The knock came again, sharp and patient. He opened the door.
Sakura stood there, mask on, eyes bright with uncertainty and worry.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Nirei said, already moving to let him in.
“I’m fine.” Sakura kicked off his shoes and marched toward the kitchen like he owned the place.
“I brought porridge. And that tea Umemiya likes that tastes like grass. And… uh.” He pulled something out of the bag and held it awkwardly behind his back. “Shut up.”
“What is it?”
Sakura scowled, then revealed a humidifier shaped like a dinosaur. It squeaked when he set it on the table. “They were out of the cat,” he muttered. “This one looked stupid. Thought you’d like it.”
Nirei pressed his fist to his mouth to trap the laugh. He did it partly because it would embarrass Sakura and partly because it hurt to laugh. “I love it.”
“Don’t.” Sakura filled the kettle with the grim determination of a man launching a warship. “Sit down.”
“I can help—”
“Sit.” Sakura shoved him toward the couch and tucked the blanket around him with shaky hands, trying to copy exactly how Nirei had tucked it around him. “Rule #1: don’t let you brush it off.”
“You remembered,” Nirei said, dazed.
“Shut up,” Sakura said, but his ears went pink.
They did the routine in reverse. Sakura set the tea to steep, checked Nirei’s forehead with the back of his hand, checked the thermometer, made a face at the numbers, and poured porridge with a concentration that would have intimidated a surgeon. He fussed over the dinosaur humidifier until it steamed contentedly, small clouds puffing from its nostrils.
“You’re good at this,” Nirei said, a little hoarse.
“I’m trying to get better,” Sakura said, shy.
“At taking care of sick people?”
Sakura’s eyes went quick and sharp, then soft. “At taking care of you,” he muttered, quiet and defiant, and Nirei forgot how to breathe for a second.
The afternoon rolled out like a mirror of the one before: water, food, meds, and check-ins. Sakura hovered in that way he pretended he wasn’t hovering and cleaning up things that didn’t need cleaning. He pretended not to watch Nirei’s breathing. Nirei pretended not to see him pretending.
At some point, Sakura sat beside him on the couch, shoulder's just barely touching.
They sat like that for a while. The fever fogged Nirei’s edges, but the world felt in focus where Sakura touched him: warm and solid and steadying.
Maybe it was the fever or the way Sakura looked at that second, but Nirei felt a boldness rise in him. He shifted, heart-in-throat hesitation flickering across his face, leaned in, quick and nervous, and pressed a kiss to Sakura’s cheek.
“For your hard work,” Nirei said, straightening, ears blazing. “And because… I wanted to.”
Shock first, then that unwilling, secret joy. “Okay,” Sakura murmured, still catching up. “Me too.”
Sakura then groaned, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned a little closer. The dinosaur puffed steam, the tea cooled, and the late-afternoon light settled over them like a blessing neither of them would name.
Nirei closed his eyes. Being sick felt less like losing the day and more like… being given one. Sakura’s shoulder anchored him to the couch, to the room, to now. He could feel the shape of the future in that closeness. Not grand, not dramatic. Just steady. Just theirs.
They didn’t talk about what the kisses meant. They didn’t have to.
Nirei already knew he was done for. Completely, stupidly smitten with the boy curled against him like he belonged there.
Tomorrow would bring the usual Furin chaos: patrols, brawls, and yelling across rooftops. But none of it touched this moment. This was quiet. Warm. His.
And the thought curled inside him with something fierce and certain: he wanted to be the one Sakura leaned on. Not just today. Not just because of a fever.
On that couch, with a ridiculous dinosaur puffing steam beside them and Sakura drifting closer instead of pulling away, something in Nirei settled deep and possessive.
He didn’t just care. He wanted to keep him safe, keep him close, and keep this version of Sakura that let himself rest against him.
He was a lost cause, and he knew it.
But Sakura, impossibly, didn’t move away. If anything, he stayed right there, like he’d chosen Nirei back.
Later, after Sakura left with strict instructions about hydration and rest ('Hypocrite,' Nirei thought to himself), Nirei’s phone buzzed.
Suo: Status?
Nirei: alive and ascending to heaven
Suo: Are you hallucinating?
Nirei: if i am i never want to wake up
Suo: Did Sakura take care of you?
Nirei: yeah…
Suo: Hm.
Another buzz, this time from a different thread.
Sakura: Text me if your fever goes up.
Sakura: Or if you need anything.
Sakura: Or if you don’t.
Sakura: Whatever. Don’t make this a big deal.
Nirei smiled at the screen until his cheeks hurt, then typed:
Nirei: got it! good job today!
Sakura: Shut up.
Sakura: Thank you.
He set his phone down and let his eyes close. The room smelled like tea and warm air, and his cheek still tingled where Sakura had kissed him hours ago. He touched that spot without thinking, just a light brush of fingers, like he could hold the warmth there a little longer.
A single word drifted through him, quiet and certain.
Mine.
The dinosaur humidifier let out a tiny puff of steam, like it was agreeing with him.