Day 8: Kou's Birthday

Kou is down with the common cold. Luckily, Futaba has the perfect remedy.

Warning: slightly suggestive themes ahead.

"I think I'm dying."

It comes out as more of a gurgle than anything else, but Futaba's known him long enough to be able to decipher the meaning. She knows she shouldn't laugh, but she can't help the giggle that escapes her lips at the state that Kou's found himself in. In fact, he does look quite close to asphyxiating to death, what with all the pillows and blankets he's buried himself with.

She pads across the room to his bedside and flicks him on the forehead. "Oh quit whining, you big baby. It's just a cold."

Kou scoffs weakly, and then sneezes. He attempts to sit up amidst the pile of comforters atop his chest, reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside. "Excuse me, I'm the one with snot clogging up my lungs and gasping for breath over here!"

"Well, if you have the energy to sass me like that, then I think you're just fine," Futaba argues simply and reaches into her bag to fish out a digital thermometer. As she takes his temperature, Kou mumbles through the device, "This is the worst birthday ever."

The girl laughs and gently brushes the hair from his eyes. The thermometer beeps.

She takes the device from his mouth, squinting at the small screen. "Hmm. Looks like your fever hasn't broken in yet. I'll go fetch a fresh towel, so why don't you get some sleep, hm?"

He looks up at her with twinkling eyes and wiggles his eyebrows. "Why don't you join me?"

She smiles at him sweetly before smacking a pillow to his face.

"Futaba, heeeeelp."

"Okay, what is it now?" She calls out from the other room.

"My head hurts," Kou whines in answer.

"I'll be right there."

Kou sticks a curious ear against the paper-thin walls. There is a rustling sound like clothes being folded and put away. A few moments pass before he gets restless.

"Futaba," he moans.

No answer.

"Futaba!"

A clink of tableware. The rush of water from a faucet.

"FUTABAAAA-CHAAAA—"

The door bangs open. "WHAT?!"

Kou blinks twice.

His girlfriend stands in his doorway, clad in the same maid outfit from many cultural festivals ago. A simple apron hangs down the front of her dress, which billows from the waist and ends just right above her knees. Creamy white stockings cover the length of her legs, and a lacy headband adorns the top of her head.

There is a buzzing sound in his head as he struggles to form coherent thoughts. The way her body curves beneath her clothes makes his mouth dry and his temperature shoot up.

"Like what you see?" She says coyly, toting a tray of food with her.

Kou feigns dizziness, falling back against the pillows with a loud thump. Futaba rushes to him in alarm. She sets the tray on his bedside table and touches a hand to his cheek. "Shi—Kou! Are you all right? Was this too much? It's too much, isn't it? Gosh, this is so stupid," she mutters rapidly as she fusses over him.

"Futaba…" He coughs, his eyes scrunched closed in pain as he takes shallow, ragged breaths.

She hovers over him worriedly, fixing the blankets on his chest. "Yes? Is there anything I can do?"

His eyelids pop open. "Well, since you asked… my mouth hurts from all the sneezing and coughing I've been doing. Maybe you can kiss it better."

There is a pregnant pause in which Futaba stares at him blankly, her jaw hanging open a few centimeters. Kou wants to laugh but pouts instead, jutting out a quivering lower lip and fluttering his lashes at her. There is an audible click of the jaw as she closes her mouth, and a slow smile creeps over her lips. "Hmm…"

She rests her hands on either side of his face, her pupils blown wide and trained on his. Her hair falls over her shoulders, and his senses are overwhelmed by the sudden scent of her, like vanilla extract and ripening strawberries ready for harvesting. A knot forms in the back of his throat.

She descends slowly, the tip of her nose brushing against his. She diverts from his mouth, her own coming to a stop by the cartilage of his right ear, her breath hot where her lips press against the skin. He shivers, and she whispers, "Yeah, and risk catching your cold? I love you, Kou, but no." She pats him quickly on the cheek and pulls back.

Kou looks put out but gives in one last attempt. "You're pretty."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mabuchi Kou," she says as she turns to the tray, ladling a bowl of clear broth from the pot.

"Aw, come on. Grant your sickly boyfriend a single kiss on his birthday. Just one measly kiss, please?"

Futaba glances sideways at him before blowing out the hair from her eyes tiredly. "Oh all right, but only after you've eaten." With that, she orders him to sit up and sets the tray before him, holding out a spoon.

The boy grits his teeth suspiciously at the bowl, eyeing the chunks of green floating in the steaming liquid.

"This… this has celery in it, doesn't it?" He cringes visibly at the word.

"Maaaaybe," she sings.

"Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

She sighs and rests a hand on her hip. "Of course not. I'm trying to help you get better so I can do more of this." She rips off the headband, tossing it to the side as she shakes out her hair seductively. She then kicks off her slippers and climbs on the bed, holding the tray up as she swings a leg over his thighs to straddle his hips, her weight pressing down where it matters and an expectant look on her face.

Kou sucks in a breath, then,

"Give me that spoon."