Love Live!! Genderbend One Shots: New Vibes

Only You - Male!Riko x Terminally Ill!Reader (Request)

  In life, you're lucky if you can find at least one love.  And not just any kind of love.  The right kind.  Of course, whatever a person constitutes as the right kind may differ. But there are those few people who do find a love that absolutely no one person could deny was right. Knowing someone deeply and truly. Knowing their fears, tastes, distastes, habits, everything negative and positive. Knowing that you love them deeply despite all.

You never did think you were a particularly lucky person. You didn't think you were a particularly unlucky person either. And perhaps that notion would be correct. Because while you've somehow struck the pot of gold that was the right love, there's just one problem.

You don't think you'll get to enjoy it very much.

"Take this every eight hours to help with the pain."

The words from your doctor ring in your mind when you feel the the pill ease down your throat. He had made the suggestion about a year prior, when you had only just learned of your condition and the pain was weaker. The pain's only gotten stronger since then. But you're not sure if you can push down any more medication with a sane mind. Even if invisible stings and twinges slap across your skin, muscles, and bones.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and try to meditate the pain away. Something you learned from a cheesy YouTube video on life longevity. It most likely will not help your chances of living in the slightest, but it's not like you've got any more to lose.

Well, except maybe one thing.

It's a hand combing gently through your scalp, and a whisper to the ear. "Is it a hard night?"

Your eyes remain closed. You don't need to open them, though you may want to. After all, you hadn't seen deep red hair and slanted golden eyes all day. But it's getting harder and harder to open your heavy lids with how limp you feel. Your back falls against a surface, and arms encompass you to further secure you.

"Very hard."

Rikuo hums, lips pressing into the crown of your head. His arms tighten. "Let's get you to bed, hm?"

The trip up the stairs is significantly easier with Rikuo there to help you. Not to say that you wouldn't be able to do it yourself. You're not broken. Not yet. It's just...easier.

Your eyes open only when you feel the softness of your sheets against your back. And he's there. Rikuo is, with his deep red hair and his slanted golden eyes, and a smile. Your heart beats a little harder, and you're thankful for it. Lord knows it doesn't work like it used to. Really, you're just thankful for Rikuo in general.

First years at Tōkyō University are notorious for being nervous wrecks. Naturally, any student attending the country's top academic institute would be so. And unfortunate as it was at the time, your nerves had been exactly what led you to Rikuo Sakurauchi. The biggest nervous wreck of them all. Albeit, a very goodlooking one.

The girls had flocked to him during orientation four years ago, and he had tried his best to escape their eager questions and batting eyes. Eventually, he landed himself into the seat next to you. You had seated yourself in the corner of the huge auditorium and were surrounded by many, many possible areas to sit. Yet of all the seats he could have chosen, he chose that one. And that wasn't even the most strange part of it—no, not even close. In his jumbled mindset, Rikuo had wrapped an arm around you and pretended that he knew you. Of course, this came to the distaste of the ravenous fangirls, who very quickly lost interest (for the time being).

You were ready to dislike him at the time. After all, you didn't know anything about this guy; and he had just used you without permission for his own gain. You had planned that, once he let go of you, you'd tear him a new one and forever mark him as the person to avoid for the rest of your years at college. However, it was not even a minute into your plan before Rikuo captured your heart with a bashful face and an apologetic offer of lunch (his treat, of course). Pretty boys always got away with everything.