I do not own Junjou Romantica.
Kamijou Hiroki was dying.
Of a migraine.
Of course, Kusama Nowaki politely disagrees, considering migraines don't actually kill people. Hiroki begs to differ.
Rewind. Six hours ago...
The day had not started out well at all for Kamijou Hiroki. He woke up that morning with an unusually harsh throbbing in his head and a funny dizziness that overpowered him. The clock on his bedside read 8:19 AM and that was more than enough to get Hiroki out of bed – which was when another wave of dizziness hit him and caused him to fall backwards on the bed (which Nowaki would have found very seductive indeed...). With a groan he sat up again, cursing inwardly as Nowaki's irritating humming reached his ears.
Thankfully the curtains were still drawn over the window so Hiroki didn't have to deal with the bright May sunlight scorching his eyes. With a tired sigh – he could almost picture Miyagi dancing around gleefully and calling him old – he stumbled into the bathroom and undressed himself. The marble tiles felt so nice and cold against his warm skin...Dumbass...don't fall asleep here! And so, with yet another groan he showered and dressed himself, feeling very much like dropping dead by the time he was done.
"I thought I told you to wake me up!" Hiroki mumbled fiddling about with his tie as he stumbled into the dining area. His voice hardly sounded as aggressive as it usually did – Nowaki picked upon this and frowned at Hiro-san's stumbling.
"I did Hiro-san. About fifty-five times." Nowaki grinned, that too bright grin that blinded Hiroki. The sunlight was much, much worse than he anticipated and stung his eyes.
"A-ah...Hiro-san, are you...sick?" Nowaki supplied as Hiroki fumbled about in the shoe rack for his left shoe.
"Tch. Of course not brat, I'm fine."
"If you say so, Hiro-san. But you don't look well – maybe you should call in sick today...not having breakfast-"
"Ah, no, no time! I've got to go now!"
And then Hiroki disappeared.
Damned brats, they were staring at him as if he'd grown another head. Sure, his eyes were read and he still felt dizzy and the throbbing in his head had only gotten worse – and he'd been asked for the twenty-eighth time (yes he was keeping track) that day if he was sick, but his health was no reason for his pea-brained students slack off.
Most of the teenagers sat, cowering in their seats as Demon Kamijou staggered into the lecture hall. Usually if Demon Kamijou was unwell, the only thing his students expected was enough yelling to deafen them and more chalk being pelted at them. Given that their professor's were currently bloodshot and his face pale and drawn, it wasn't odd that most of them sat huddled up to each other, whispering in fear.
"Okay...today we'll be studying ..." he turned around and continued to write out the class's latest project plan out on the blackboard.
"O-oi...he looks worse than usual..." one student mumbled to the boy sitting next to him.
Kamijou glared at the duo.
Demon Kamijou had let both of them get away with talking.
Something had to be wrong.
Scratch that, something was very, very wrong with their professor. For starters, he hadn't yelled quite as much as he usually did. And he'd thrown just two pieces of chalk, and both of them missed their targets by several inches. That and the fact, that most of them were still intact after being spotted texting or talking or sleeping.
Did they think he didn't notice them talking and whatnot? Did they really believe he was blind to their misbehaviour? That was probably why most of them doing pathetically on this course...Kamijou rolled out his stiff shoulders and glanced at his watch. There was still twenty minutes left before class ended...oh well, he was beat...he really couldn't go any further. His head was just about ready to explode and his eyes were losing a battle against gravity.
And in three seconds flat the entire room was empty, except for him.
Every square inch of his body protested as he stood up from his seat and walked to the office Miyagi and he shared. Thankfully Miyagi wasn't in their office – bloody idiot must have actually teaching a class for a change. He settled into a chair and folded his arms on the desk and placed his head on his arms. A few minutes of sleep wouldn't kill him...
Much to his misfortune, Miyagi chose that particular moment to make an entry.
"Ah! Kamijooooou! Guess what, the kids are actually saying Demon Kamijou has become docile – I think they're more scared of you now than they were before!" Miyagi exclaimed, dancing into the office. "Ahh, my Sweet Honey...rough night with Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary?" Miyagi waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
"Kyoujuu! Mind your own business!" Kamijou attempted to swat at the older male.
"Ah, but you are my business-"
"We obviously have different definitions of 'Mind your own business'". Kamijou snapped , ready to punch the raven-haired man.
"Oh, you wound me so Kamijou darling!" Miyagi struck an overdramatic pose and continued to ramble about how Kamijou's students would like him a lot more if he stopped frowning and if he would make an attempt to get along with them.
Kamijou insisted that he must have committed some sort of heinous crime to be subjected to this form of jackassery every damn day.
The rain poured, the skies were overcast and grey. Hiroki stepped out of the train station and mentally slapped himself for forgetting his umbrella – he reasoned, it wasn't his fault, the weather report predicted less than two percent chance of it raining and Hiroki had decided to risk it. He finally came home cold, drenched, tired and still very sick and very much angry at the Old Man in Heaven who was taking pleasure in tormenting him. He had been unable to catch a taxi in the heavy rain, which only served to make him feel worse about his condition.
"Tadaima..." he mumbled with a heavy sigh, stepping inside. It was past six. Nowaki had finished his shift for that day luckily.
"Okaeri. Are you alright Hiro-san? You look terrible..." Nowaki greeted, taking in the sight of his beloved Hiro-san soaked and weary.
"Ah, I'm fine." No argument. Nowaki raised his eyebrows as his lover flopped into a chair and moaned, rubbing his temples. The tall doctor abandoned his work and took a seat next to the professor. Without warning, he pulled the shorter male closer to him and pressed his lips to Hiroki's forehead.
"What are you doing!"
"Hiro-san, the lips are very sensitive to temperature, you know? I'd say you have a fever." Nowaki smiled, pulling Hiro-san closer to him.
"Argh...I'm not sick,"
"Of course you aren't Hiro-san. And pigs do fly." Nowaki chuckled, stroking Hiro-san's hair. "Come on," Nowaki tugged on the sleepy Hiroki's sleeve.
After a struggle for dominance – in which Nowaki insisted that Hiroki get into bed and sleep off whatever he was down with and Hiroki insisting that he was just fine, his protests growing weaker and less indignant by the second – the couple collapsed on the bed with force that was probably enough to break the bed in two. Hiroki's back was slammed against the mattress.
"Now just stay there and-"
"I'm not some damned brat, Nowaki."
"Ah, sorry Hiro-san. Force of habit." Nowaki smiled, his gentle smile that made Hiroki sorry for even opening his mouth.
"Anyway, Hiro-san..." Nowaki continued. "Hiro-san? Hiro-san?"
Hiroki pulled the taller man closer to him and captured the younger male's lips with his own. He was in such a comfortable position on his bed – it was too much to ask to move. Nowaki's tongue explored the depths of his mouth slowly, as if it wanted to spend every second savouring Hiroki's taste when Nowaki pulled away.
"Not now Hiro-san, you're sick-"
"Ah, shut up..." Hiroki reached out for his raven-haired lover.
"No, Hiro-san, obviously you shouldn't be doing something as strenuous as having sex when you're obviously rather ill. I think it's time we both went to bed."
Hiroki gave in to Nowaki's words.
"Hey, Nowaki...I know I probably don't say it often enough...but...but I do love you."
And those were Hiroki's last words until the little light bulbs in his head went out.
Nowaki claims his Hiro-san is absolutely adorable when he is sick and to be honest, the idea of a feverish and delusion Hiro-san actually sounds appealing to him – Hiroki believes his lover has, by some twist of fate, sided with that sadist Miyagi for the Nowaki he knows (and loves) would never say something so cruel.
And Hiroki denies ever having said something so soft and schoolgirl-ish as "I love you Nowaki!".
And he had not been sick, damnit.