Word Count: 1000 and change.
Notes: Written for arushiraoi @ fudomine_love. Written in about 45 minutes, cliche-y and predictable. :D
It was a bright, brilliantly clear day; the sun was out, there was a nice breeze and birds were chirping happily - all in all, a perfect day for the city's young men and women to be out and about enjoying themselves. There was one boy, however, who was far from enjoying himself .
Kamio Akira was sick. He wasn't sure how or when he'd managed to come down with a cold when summer vacation had just barely started, but needless to say, he was miserable. His head felt like someone had beat him a few times over, throat dry and scratchy, his body ached and he was fairly certain that his brain would end up leaking out of his nose along with everything else.
He'd spent a good part of the morning simply curled up in bed, moodily staring at the tv flickering across the room. Man, why did this shit always happen to him? One minute he'd be perfectly fine, the next he'd feel like he'd been hit by a bus and flat on his back for the next week trying not to overdose on cold meds.
The worst part was that no one seemed to have even notice. Not a friend had called, his sister had completely ignored his request for a glass of juice and his mother hadn't even bothered to come in and check on him. What, was he invisible or something? Sure, he wouldn't have been the greatest of company at the moment but... a little acknowledgement would've been nice.
The day drew on at a ridiculously slow pace; the television had since lost any entertainment value and staring at his computer monitor for any length of time just made his headache worse. And so, he ended up back where he'd started, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling grumpily. He checked the clock, 15:37. 38. 39. 40.
Somewhere between feeling sorry for himself and watching the clock flash the time (15:55), the doorbell rang and he could hear muffled voices and footsteps. They became clearer as moments passed and they came closer, finally stopping in front of his bedroom door and ending with a light knock.
"Akira?" Shinji called softly through door.
"Shinji?" His voice didn't sound like his own - raspy and throaty and very unlike the half-whine he usually had.
Shinji seemed to have taken that as an invitation and within moments the door had opened and there was a body to go with the the voice. He said nothing as he strode across the room, the grocery bag in his hand set on top of the dresser and contents extracted - a small, clearly hot tupperware container and a spoon. At the questioning look Kamio gave him, he elaborated. "Chicken soup. My mom said it's good for colds and easier to keep down than anything else... I don't know why, wouldn't beef soup or vegetable soup do the same thing?"
"Er," Kamio started, an eyebrow perked curiously. "I don't know - how'd you know, anyway? That I was sick, I mean." He hadn't exactly gone broadcasting it to the world or anything (though at one point he'd wished he had, then maybe someone would've actually paid attention to him) and he hadn't even bothered to call anyone, so... why?
"Ah, I called this morning to see if you wanted to go see that new Harry Potter movie, but your sister said you went back to sleep." Shinji replied as he popped the lid off the container and stirred it for a moment before carefully picking it up and carrying it across the room. "So eat, 'coz I'll bet you haven't even gotten your lazy ass out of bed yet." A tiny smile curled on the corners of his mouth as he took a seat and held the soup out.
"Uh, right. Thanks." Shinji was right, he was hungry. Starving, in fact, and the lightly seasoned scent of the soup already seemed to be helping to clear out his sinuses. Under Shinji's watchful and patient eye be picked up the spoon and began to eat, letting the hot soup slide down the back of his throat. It was good, and his growling stomach seemed to agree even if the heat seemed to be irritating an already raw and scratchy throat.
Shinji in the meantime had picked up the remote control and was now flipping through channels - still nothing on, but a rerun he'd seen about eight times was better than nothing. He flopped back, staring intently at the arguing man and woman on the screen - ooh, at least this episode had someone die in it.
It wasn't long before the sound of the spoon hitting the empty bottom of the container could be heard and Kamio set it aside, somehow already feeling a bit better. "Thank your mom for me." He mumbled as he rolled back on his side, a hand tucked under his cheek and droopy eyes barely focusing on the tv.
"My mom? Why?"
"For the soup."
"...I made it. She's gone, remember? Business trip 'til the end of the week."
"...Oh." Well, now Kamio certainly felt like an ass. "Thanks, then. It was good. I mean, from what my remaining taste buds could tell, anyway." He wasn't quite certain, but he thought for a moment there that he saw Shinji's chest puff out just the slightest.
"'Welcome." Shinji replied - he was used to this sort of thing. No one ever expected him in the kitchen, so it always came as a surprise to other people when he said he'd made whatever they'd just eaten. Though he'd also failed to mention he cooked most of the meals in his house, right down to packing the bento he and his sisters carried to school each day.
"Nn." The response was quiet and barely there; with a full stomach and Shinji's quiet company Kamio was beginning to get drowsy again (or maybe that was the cold meds. Either way.). He yawned and eyes slipped closed, murmuring softly. "There's a couple of new movies on the shelf if you wanna watch."
Shinji's head tilted slightly, eyes now focused on the boy at his side. "Ah." But he wasn't very interested in watching a movie, not when Kamio was so close and his face had scrunched in a kittenish sort of way. "Okay."
In the end, he didn't watch the movie.