Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making a profit through writing and posting this.

A/N: This is based heavily on both the anime and the manga series (I've read through the fifth book, and this is very much inspired by it - where Masahiro is having a crisis because he wonders how many people Kousuke has said, 'I love you' to).

Warning: While the only thing that happens in this story is kissing, it does feature an underage character, which is in keeping with the series. Another warning because my Japanese is rusty, so my conjugation of ganbarimasu is off. Sorry.

Cross posted on A03, written for the Unwrapped Collection prompt #3: Sick Day

He was burning up, head and heart on fire. Was it love, or just the flu?

"Achoo!"

Sniffle.

Eyes watering. Nose dripping. Head spinning.

The flu then.

"I don't have time for this," Masahiro lamented to his empty room. He shivered and curled in on himself.

"Ganbaru!" he urged himself, falling back to the bed. "I have that maths test today. Kousuke-san is going to be so disappointed if I don't do my best in it. I don't want to be a bother either."

"Achoo!"

Sore throat. Sore head. Sore stomach.

"Ganbarimasu!"

Masahiro sat up, and his whole room spun. He shivered and his stomach quaked. He had just enough time to place a hand over his mouth, and lean over the bed before he lost the meager contents of his stomach - noodles and little bits of chopped veggies - on the floor. Masahiro's eyes filled with tears, and he wrapped an arm around his aching stomach.

His other hand was covered in puke, and so was his face. Though the room kept spinning, and he felt like he was about to pass out, he pushed himself onto his feet, swaying for a moment, before heading into the bathroom. He knelt before the toilet as his stomach gave a nasty lurch, and puked until nothing but bile came out, then he promptly passed out.

Warmth seeped through his body, though he shivered.

"Are you cold? But you're burning up."

He knew that voice, but it sounded far away, and he couldn't quite pinpoint who it belonged to, though he knew he should be able to provide a name for the angelic voice that brought him comfort. Before he fully registered what was happening, before he truly regained consciousness, he felt himself floating.

It was a funny feeling - floating - and yet it was nice. His subconscious scolded him for being silly, for not realizing that the reason he was floating was because someone was carrying him, and that he should fully wake up and notice who was carrying him. It was important, his subconscious told him. Still, his eyes were not on board with that plan and were much too difficult for him to open all by himself.

The floating ended much too soon, and he was somewhere soft, yet firm.

'You're on your bed,' his subconscious supplied. 'Stupid.'

"You really are sick, aren't you?" that heavenly voice said.

Masahiro fought to open his eyes. He really did, but they refused to obey him, much to the chagrin of his rather irritated subconscious which was now openly berating him.

"Guess I'll have to take care of you," the voice said.

A hand brushed the hair off his forehead, and Mashahiro leaned into the cool touch, whimpering when the hand was removed. His subconscious snorted.

"Don't pout," the voice said. "I'll be back with something to cool you off, then I'll get you into some clean clothing and take you home after I clean up your mess."

But wasn't he already home?

'This has never been your home,' his subconscious said. 'You've never felt safe here.'

That was true. The only place he'd ever really felt safe was... but that couldn't be right, could it? Kousuke-san couldn't be here right now, cleaning up his mess, tending to him... speaking so calmly of taking him home... could he?

"Buh...'smh'm," Masahiro slurred.

Soft laughter accompanied his failed attempt at communication, it wasn't mean, though. Then something wet and cool was placed on his forehead and Masahiro was lost in the cooling sensation. Then a hand was on his chest, rubbing something on it that made him shiver and sigh.

He felt like a puppet that had lost its strings, and tried to move when he felt his limbs being moved without his say so. It felt strange. It felt like love.

"Stop that, now," the voice said. "I'm trying to help you. Just let me take care of you for once, Masahiro, my wife."

"'m not y'r wife," Masahiro said, lower lip trembling.

"Hush now," the voice commanded. "Sleep. I've got you."

Once again he was floating, and his subconscious was shouting all sorts of unkind things at him in an attempt to get him to return to full consciousness, but Masahiro was too tired, too sick, to pay attention to anything other than the sensation of being carried. Loved.

Masahiro lost track of time. Lost track of his barely awake moments when his body was being manipulated, and he was being forced to drink cooling liquids and medicines. Never, though, did he lose track of the voice that kept talking to him, even though he couldn't return speech with any measurable level of coherency.

There were kisses. Light and gentle on his face, neck, chest, stomach. Tender touches that massaged away aches and pains, made him feel cared for in a way that he'd never really felt before. His mother had done her best, but she'd never been the type to coddle him when he'd been sick. He'd always had to fend for himself from a young age.

"You finally waking up?" the voice, and Masahiro's fatigued brain tossed about for a name for it while working on opening his eyes.

His eyes won out on the competition, and he blinked before screwing his eyes shut against the brightness of the room.

"Sorry," the voice said, and then there was a rustling movement and Masahiro felt bereft, though he had no idea why until he felt the futon he was lying on dip when someone lay down beside him.

"You can open your eyes now. I've turned the lights off."

Masahiro struggled once again with the simple act of opening his eyes, and only blinked a little in the darkness in an attempt to get used to having them open in who knows how long. Once his eyes were used to being open, he took in the ceiling of the room he was in, the walls, the man lying next to him, and he blushed.

"Kousuke-san," he whispered. "I-I-"

"Hush, now," Kousuke said. "Rest."

"But I just woke up," Masahiro said around a yawn that threatened to crack his jaw.

"You're recovering from a really bad case of the flu," Kousuke said. "You need to take it easy."

"I'm so sorry," Masahiro said, hating that he was so weak, so needy.

"Shh," Kousuke said. He pressed a kiss to Masahiro's lips. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But you shouldn't have had to take care of me," Masahiro said.

"It was my pleasure," Kousuke said. "It's what a man does for the person he loves."

"Loves?" Masahiro felt his cheeks burn.

"Do you doubt my love even now?" Kousuke asked, frowning.

He was hurt, and Masahiro's subconscious reprimanded him. 'You really are a knucklehead, aren't you?'

Masahiro shook his head and rolled until he had Kousuke pinned beneath him. He felt weak as Sasa had been when he and Kensuke had first found the kitten, but he was strong enough for this.

"I love you, too," he said, eyes locked on Kousuke's.

He bent down and pressed his lips to Kousuke's, sighing when his kiss was returned. It was a short kiss, because he really didn't have the strength to do much more. Masahiro didn't protest when he was rolled off of Kousuke and spooned from behind.

He fell asleep, feeling much better than he had however long ago it was when he'd first gotten sick. He was home, safe and secure in the arms of the man who loved him, and nothing else mattered.

It wasn't until he was far more recovered that he panicked about Kousuke's mother finding out about the two of them. But by then it didn't matter, because it turned out that she'd been far more aware of the two of them than she'd let on, and she'd already considered Masahiro as one of her sons well before he and Kousuke had become a couple.

"You're good for my son," she said (once Mashiro was finally recovered and once again making dinner for the family). "You belong here. Part of me thinks that you were always meant to be part of this family."

It was the onions that made him cry. Or at least that's what he told himself when Kousuke wrapped him up in his arms and held him from behind as he kissed him on the neck.

"That's my sweet wife," Kousuke said, chuckling. "Heartful tears."

Masahiro stepped hard on Kousuke's foot, making the man scowl and hiss. "What'd you do that for?"

"Stop calling me your wife," Masahiro said. "Besides, it's the onions that are making me cry, not your mother's kind words."

"But, you aren't cutting any onions, Ma-kun," Kensuke said, peering at the cutting board which held carrots and daikon.

"Leave them alone in their lover's quarrel," Hasekura said, pulling a protesting Kensuke away, leaving the couple alone.

Masahiro would feel grateful to Hasekura, but the other boy had probably only taken Kensuke away because he'd been jealous. It was silly, but Hasekura and Kensuke were both the jealous type, and even though Masahiro had made it abundantly clear that he was with Kousuke, the two still got jealous when he was around one or the other.

While it was true that Mashiro had been brought into the Ooshiba family by Kensuke, it was his friend's older brother, Kousuke, that he loved. Neither boy had anything to be jealous over, unless it was the love that Kousuke and Masahiro had for each other.

"Are you going to let me kiss you or not?" Kousuke asked. Masahiro could hear the pout in the man's voice.

Sighing, Masahiro turned and stood up on his tiptoes, initiating a kiss that made the other man hold tightly to him and press him up against the counter. He felt like his head was in the clouds. The clearing of a throat and the murmuring voices of Masahiro's friends in the background brought both of them crashing down to the real world, and they reluctantly pulled apart.

"I need to finish making dinner," Masahiro said, turning away.

"That's my wife." Kousuke said, voice playful. He stood behind Masahiro and wrapped his arms around his waist as the younger man continued to chop vegetables for dinner.

Masahiro's subconscious sighed in delight. 'You make a good wife,' his subconscious decided. Masahiro inwardly groaned, and concentrated on making the best dinner for his family that he could.

He was burning up again, with Kousuke pressed up against him. But this time it wasn't the flu. This time he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was love.

OUTRO

Sniffle.

Hug.

Kiss.

"Don't cry," Kousuke's voice, breath warm against the shell of his ear.

"It's just the onions," Masahiro said.

"But there aren't any onions!" Kensuke's shout was accompanied by a loud, "Oomph!" as Hasekura clobbered him, and then pulled him in for a kiss that had the boy blushing, arms windmilling.

Masahiro and Kousuke laughed, and Kousuke settled in behind Masahiro, chin resting on Masahiro's shoulder as he worked.