Shiina Kisaragi's POV:
Honestly, I had nothing but worries.
The fact that, not to long ago, he'd placed a sopping wet cloth on my forehead should've been a warning.
After Naru grabbed me a mask to put on, and I returned to lying in bed, he went to refill that basin of water so he could replace my washcloth. Before my eyes, the results were just as worrying. Wringing out the cloth once with enough clumsiness to spill it everywhere, then folding it just as awkwardly, he lifted my bangs and rested it on my forehead. Water dripped everywhere, soaking my pillow, and even my neck.
Possibly because he had taken on the role of caring for me, or because he was just that confident, Naru stared at his work, completely self-assured.
Ugh. Don't do it, Shiina. Don't ruin this for him. "Um, Naru." I broke. "I appreciate this, but the water is lukewarm. It won't help reduce my fever unless it's. . ."
"Sorry, what did you say?" His innocent, happy-to-be-looking-after-me smile wore my resolve right down.
". . .You got the temperature just how I like it!" I cleared my throat, despite internally crying. "Thank you, Naru!"
He perked indescribably. "R-really? You headbutted me earlier so I thought I'd adjust it to make you more comfortable."
"No, that—that wasn't on purpose!" He took it to heart. "It was a complete accident, okay? It had nothing to do with the water temperature!"
I bit my lip.
Oh, whatever. I'd suffer through this. The next time he changed it, I'd ask for colder water.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Naru asked, now fidgeting. "I wouldn't mind listening to your requests. I'm totally free."
Aww. He was too cute.
"Now that you mention it." My hoarse voice reached my ears. I shivered. "Can you get me another blanket from the room next door?"
Following my instructions, Naru returned with the thick blanket. He lay it over my current blanket, tucking me in on all sides.
I shifted, uncomfortably.
"Now, it's too hot," I complained. "Never mind. I don't need it."
He removed it straightaway.
"Ac-ctually, put it back. I'm f-freezing."
Although he conceded, I sweated automatically.
"Now, I'm too hot. . . Too cold. Hot. Cold. Cold. Hot."
"Kisaragi," Naru pleaded.
Eventually, we reached a compromise: leaving the blanket half-on, and putting on a pair of socks.
"Did you eat at all today?"
He posed the question when I released a breath of satisfaction.
"Er," I said, "I threw up most of it. I planned to make rice porridge but I had no energy to stand. So, I've just been drinking water."
Propping his hands on his waist, he shook his head.
"You're so hopeless. I suppose I could cook for you just this once."
My eyes widened. "Are you sure? I don't have an appetite, anyway."
"It's better to eat. Then, you can take medicine. Have you taken any?"
"I have, but, I vomited soon after. I didn't think it was wise to take any more until the recommended amount of hours passed."
Since it was almost twelve at night, eight hours later, it should be fine now, though.
Agh. Why was I informing my boyfriend about the fact that I vomited? Multiple times? I should've just left it out!
When I snapped out of my thoughts, Naru was long gone. Noises stemmed from the kitchen.
My stomach dropped to my gut.
Naru was cooking for me?
Could Naru even cook?
I hadn't exactly asked. Though, knowing his track record, the answer had to be a no.
Maybe I should intervene.
I should definitely intervene.
Then again, if I did, I'd miss the opportunity to taste Naru's cooking.
Naru's love-filled, all I want to do is take care of you, cooking. . .
.
.
.
I had to eat it.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Crashing pots and pans. The stench of smoke. The exaggerated noise of a knife slamming a cutting board. Hearing all sorts of worrisome noises made it infinitely impossible to relax. However, almost an hour later, Naru strolled inside, carrying a piping bowl of rice porridge.
Or, at least, that's what I think it was.
It had a dark brown shade—indicating it had been burned. Moreover, roughly chopped leeks took up the majority of the bowl.
There was more of it than the actual porridge.
"Is this. . . the first time you've made this?" I finally asked.
"I had the recipe memorized so it was a piece of cake," Naru proudly responded.
I stiffened.
That restless, sparkly-eyed look. . . Those eager glances. . .
He wanted my praise.
Smiling, my heart melted anew. He was too adorable.
"It smells amazing!" I informed him.
Flowers sprouted out of his head. "Really?"
I nodded. "Super crispy. Lots of leeks. Yup! It's just how I like it!"
"Of course it is," he replied, giddily. "I can cook too, after all. I know your preferences well, after all."
"And this is. . . tea, right?" I received the cup from him.
Lukewarm water, with little, if any steam, floating out. The faint scent of honey. This, in comparison, wasn't so. . .
A whole ginger root rose to the surface of the water, quieting that thought.
"I added plenty of ginger," he informed me. "Since ginger is good for colds."
He didn't even try slicing them up, or grating them.
I withheld a laugh. Was I supposed to bite into them or something?
As expected, Naru was clumsy even with cooking. Yet, here he was, glowing with indescribable pride.
Was it because he did it for me?
It was because he did it with me in mind, wasn't it?
How could somebody be so, utterly cute?
I was going to die from happiness.
"Thank you, Naru." Underneath my mask, he likely couldn't see my gigantic smile. The fear, the worry—all of the negative emotions that brewed within me before his arrival evaporated into thin air. I felt so much better. Because of him. Because he was here, looking after me. Was this what people meant when they said love was healing? "I'll savour every bite," I promised.
"Don't force yourself to finish if you can't," he responded. "Let me know if you start feeling unwell."
"I will." Heart warm, I pulled down my mask and sipped the tea. The ginger and honey flavours were strong. "I really am lucky. I have such a cool and reliable boyfriend."
Naru's cheeks gained a rosy hue. His silly smile pinned his lips. "That's right. You can rely on me all you want."
After downing half of the cup, I handed it to him so I could dig into the porridge. Lifting the spoon, I blew on it three times. Then, placed it in my mouth.
It hit me with a punch.
Naru noticed. "What's wrong? Does it taste—"
"It. . . has a strong flavour," I corrected, chewing—forcing it down. "I can hardly smell or taste anything right now, so that's pretty much all I can make out. I'm sorry. Since you worked so hard to make it for me, I wanted to enjoy it properly."
"That's not something to worry about right now."
"It bothers me still," I admitted. "So, maybe. . . maybe when I feel better, you can make it for me again?"
"If you'd like that," he said, timidly veering his gaze. "I don't suppose why I can't. However, instead of rice porridge, I'll prepare a proper meal."
"I'd love that," I responded. "How about we have a picnic? Oh. But I guess the weather isn't the best for that. Winter is still in full-swing. So, we'll have to wait until it gets warmer to do something like that. What do you think?"
I beamed as I rambled. Soon, his expression reflected mine. From there, we chatted about nonsensical things. About school, his workload as the class representative of our homeroom class, the upcoming Christmas break. Before I realized it, I'd finished the rice porridge and the tea.
I caught a quick glimpse of the clock.
"Naru, it's really late. You should head back home."
He frowned. "But. . ."
"I'm feeling a lot better," I insisted. "My parents and Mao will be back by noon tomorrow. I'll be fine. You left in a rush, didn't you? Ms. Murakami must be worried."
He shook his head.
"When I mentioned it was you who called, she threw me out the door. She'll send me right back if I leave you now."
My mouth glued shut.
Ms. Murakami, the director at the orphanage Naru grew up in, was extremely caring. I'd met her a couple of times, and each time, she welcomed me warmly, and treated me like family. The other kids at the orphanage were super adorable and friendly, too. I could imagine the very scene he explained.
"Besides," he added, "you're just trying to be brave right now, aren't you? Would you really feel comfortable if I left you by yourself?"
"I. . . "
"When you were in such a terrible state, you didn't think to call me right away. You didn't have the energy to eat or drink or take medication. Plus, you left the front door unlocked."
"That was," I started, writhing in mortification, "my fault."
Man, I was hopeless.
"I'm not one to talk, but. . ." I'd insulted him. Understandably. "It's okay to not be strong. It's okay to be weak. You taught me that it was okay. Especially a-around each other."
The tips of his ears scalded red.
"I. . . thought I had to be perfect in order to feel like I deserved to live. That if I was honest—if people saw me crying or whining—they would see me as baggage. I hated being pitied and looked down on. I hated hearing my mom's last words echoing and echoing in my mind. So, I stopped being honest, and tried to fill the emptiness with achievements. I was rude to you and a lot of people because of that. But, even after you saw me breakdown, and saw me crying and whining—being as pathetic as I could possibly be—you still asked to be my friend. You still confessed to me; told me that you lo-love me. Sure, I want to be tough and show you all my cool sides, but even when I don't, you don't judge me. I-I want to become someone like that for you, too. So—"
"Naru."
Although his blushing face was as endearing as ever, with my hand clasped over my mouth, and one above my stomach, I had to interrupt him.
"I don't feel so—so good."
My body didn't allow me to finish. I bumbled out of bed and into the adjacent washroom, bent over the toilet, and promptly threw up.
Shame about what I did, or how unseemly I looked, was the least of my concerns when I surfaced for air.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I apologized in a frenzy, panting. "You were being so forthright and I. . . It's because I'm sick! Not because I disagree with your heartfelt words! Or because you're a bad chef and it's what I ate! I promise it's neither of those!"
My stomach lurched.
"Oh no," I heaved, retching into the toilet again. "Everything's coming right back up. . ."
At a loss on my bedroom floor, Naru trembled, cried. Guilt rolled off him like never before. He felt responsible beyond words.
.
.
.
Our love story really was full of misunderstandings.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Chapter Bonus:
Later that night:
"Shiina! Mao said to stop by 'cause she was worried about you and couldn't sleep. Are you alive?"
With the key hidden underneath the mat outdoor, Ryota Mizotaro barrelled through the front entrance. The plastic bag hanging on his arm jiggled.
"Oiii," he called again, making his way upstairs, and poking his head into her room. "I brought energy drinks—"
He froze as soon as he hit the light switch.
Shiina bundled up in bed, snoozing peacefully. On the edge of her bed slept a blond boy he recognized to be her boyfriend, firmly gripping her hand as she slept.
Was he taking care of her? Then, fell asleep?
Ryota's slips twisted into a wide smirk.
"Oh?"
Setting the bag onto her desk, he dug into his back pocket. He snapped a photo.
"Might as well send this to Rin so he can cry. How did he ever let a guy like this steal his crush? Couldn't be me."
Fiddling on his device, he did just that, then went to his other messages.
"Dear Mao. Mission accomplished. Subject is breathing. Will report in the morning. Annnd send."
Right as he hit the lights and made for the exit, he paused and glanced back. Sighing, he disappeared into the hall. He returned shortly with a thin blanket, which he rested over Narumi. Expelling another exhausted breath, he retreated, and pulled Shiina's up higher on her shoulders.
"Jeez. These troublesome high schoolers." His shoulders fell. "Stop worrying so many people. Feel better soon, Shiina."