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❝ The Sick Producer - Izumi ( request ) ❞

"If it looks good, don't touch it," demanded Izumi. "You'll mess it up."
"Ah, sorry," you withdrew your hands close to your chest. "Do you know where my apartment is?"
"I'm pretty sure," replied the gray-haired model. "I know you're excited about our performance, but don't overwork yourself over it. It's bad for your skin."
"Is it really?" You asked, surprised at this information.
"Mhm, it gives you wrinkles," Izumi halted for a brief moment, afterwards locating the ES housing. With a smugness to his features, he advanced towards it. "You also get tired and almost faint on the stairs. Koff! Koff!"
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," you chuckled awkwardly. "I'm just nervous about this. It's an ambitious idea, I have to be ready to make it perfect."
"Perfection, yes," Izumi sighed as he was met with a door. He pushed it open using his back, afterwards slithering inside. "Working yourself into an early grave, no."
You laughed at his word choice. "Early grave," quoting him, your lips tugged into a smile. "That's funny."

"Is this your room?" He questioned.
You peered at the numbers. "Yep! You're good at this."
"Hah," he snickered with pride, a foxy grin on his features. "Where's your key?"
"Uhh," you dug into your pocket, praying you hadn't forgotten it. "Oh no."
"I will leave you on the floor if you forgot it."
"No, it's here!" You beamed as you located the keys.
"Good," he huffed. After you unlocked the door, Izumi pushed the knob down, opening the door. He stepped inside, shutting the door with his foot behind himself. "Do you want to be on the bed?"
"Uh, couch, please," you replied. "I can handle stuff from here."
"Haha, no, you're not," argued Izumi as he approached the couch in your apartment. It was quite the cozy living space. Walking in, there was a small hallway which housed a bathroom on the left side and a bedroom on the right. Walking straight forth, it leads to the main room. A small kitchen is located to the left, with a dining room table at the right side of the room. The couch is fixed near to the far left corner, set apart from the kitchen.

You relaxed into the couch cushions as Izumi set you down. "Thank you," you then sat upright. "I don't want to keep you from work anymore."
"Don't worry, I offered," he calmly shot back. "Do you have any freezer dinners?" He questioned.
"Usually it's just sweet and sour chicken," you confessed, anxious for Izumi's reaction. "Is that okay?"
"Duh," he snickered upon opening the fridge. "I'm not the one eating it."
"Would you like me to order you food? I want to repay you." Eager to gift him something in return, you beamed at him.
"No, thanks," he shrugged you off as he read the directions of the instant chicken and rice. "I'll be fine."
An idea came to you. If Izumi would make the food for you, you could easily tempt him into having some.

One microwave cook later..

"Ow, that's hot—" Izumi kissed his fingertip after setting the piping hot food case aside.
"Are you okay?" You questioned.
"Yeah," replied he as he located the utensil drawer. He placed a fork into the rice and chicken carton, afterwards wrapping it in paper towel. "Be careful, it's hot."
"Thank you," you accepted the food, scooping some onto the fork to allow it to cool. After a brief moment in silence, you beckoned Izumi. "Izumi. Here."
"What?" He stared blankly at you, blinking thrice.
"Try some, please."
"No way," he shook you off. "I'm not interested in eating your instant crap."
"Wow," even if he seemed bristled about your request, you could respect his wishes. "If you change your mind, I have more—"
"Fine," huffed he. He crouched beside the couch, eyes intently observing you. "Is it still hot?"
Snickering, you offered him the fork of food. "Not really," you smiled as he accepted the food. "Is it good?"
After chewing and swallowing, he adopted a soft grin in which you'd never seen prior. It was adorable, nonetheless. "Heh, yeah," he seemed to be quite happy with the result. "Hurry up and try it."

Maybe he's just hangry.

You extended the fork out towards his face. "Want more?"
Izumi, faking annoyance, proceeded to accept more of the rice. Each time you offered him food, his cheeks would flush red. His expression would lift into a blissful state as he indulged in the taste. "It's really good." He told you.
"It looks like it," you replied, laughing a tad. "Do you want more?"
"Oh, uhm, no," he hesitated. "Thanks."
"Mhm!" You hummed, afterwards eagerly eating the food he prepared for you.

Izumi eyed you. It seemed as though he wanted something. As you finished your food, you set the container on the table before yourself. Once your gaze caught onto his, you raised a brow. "What's up?"
"Nothing." He grunted, turning his head away from you.
"I'm sure it's something I can do for you," you argued. "So, tell me."
"Not happening." The stubborn idol replied.
Deadpanning, you placed a hand on his head. "What is it? This is going to annoy me for so long." You laughed a bit after speaking, attempting to make a joke.

It landed.

The gray-haired boy had begun laughing quietly to himself. "Alright," he waved you off. "Can I cuddle with my cutie?"
You cringed inwardly, though in an affectionate way. You could see Izumi's expression droop upon being cringed at. "Sorry, sure," you outstretched your arms to him. "You're a great caretaker."
"Obviously," the sarcastic Izumi shot back. He then proceeded to lay down on the couch, sprawled out between your knees, where he laid across your chest. "This isn't uncomfortable for you, is it?"
"No," you pat his hair. "What do you use to make this so soft?"
"I have my ways," he snickered, a foxy grin on his face. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, it's so nice," you then perked your head. "Is it okay that I'm messing with it?"

Apparently, that flustered the idol. He turned bright red, laughing off your behavior. "Duh, if I didn't like it, I would— I would have stopped you."
"Good," you breathed a sigh of relief, resuming the action of fiddling with Izumi's hair. "Hey, Izumi?"
"What?" He replied, his tone relaxed in your pampering.
"I want to say something to you," you confessed. "I love you."
"Ah," he averted his gaze from yours. "I, uh— I love you too, Producer."

And with that, there was no time to spare. You cupped your hands around his face, pulling him in for a kiss. The prompt was quite slow, giving him time to process and lean into your lips; to which he happily did.

Huh. I feel better already.