#THIS WAS SO SOFT TO WRITE AA TY SM FOR THE PROMPT!!~

[pocket-full-of-wonder]

oh ! same anon but i was wondering if you could do number 5 for the drabbles ! preferably w kags asking for help if its not too much trouble 🥺

oh heck yea!!!! most of the qp kagehina series so far has been kags lookin after hina which is BLESSED but i have been meaning to showcase more of the vice versa so thank you v much!!!! ~~

((ngl i had such a hard time deciding exactly wHAT scenario i wanted to go with and bounced through a good 5-6 of them before finally settling on this one and it’s made me want to write a small collection of ficlets centered around the two of them learning to be vulnerable around each other and ask for help more openly jkjlkjlSDF))

((#5: First time asking for help))

Now Available on AO3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They’ve been living together for two months. In the grand scheme of things, that isn’t a very long time, and they don’t plan to stop at two months, either. Or even two years, granted their impending futures don’t pull them apart–and if it does, and they’ve talked about the fact that it most likely, inevitably will, there’s nothing to keep their futures from aligning again. 

For now, though, it’s been only two months. Long enough for them to settle into a routine, long enough to memorize each other’s good/bad habits and pick up the slack wherever needed. It’s a nice system they have in place of taking care of things around the apartment, who prepares/purchases their meals, who waters the house plants, this that and the other. It’s a system that works and a system they love. Tobio certainly wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Except, he wakes up one Friday morning feeling like someone’d taken a sledgehammer to his head and mint to his sinuses, and there’s barely enough coherency in his befuddled mind to think oh, no. 

Two months, perhaps, isn’t nearly long enough a time to experience everything that comes with a) being in a partnership but also b) seeing each other sick in said partnership.

Tobio doesn’t get sick often, he never has, but he knows from the moment he wakes up that accursed morning that he’s going to go down hard. That’s always how it’s been; he doesn’t get sick, but when he does get sick, he gets really, really sick. Sick enough that his panicked father has driven him down to the ER at ungodly hours.

But now he’s eighteen, and living with Shouyou, and he has a routine and a job and a crash course of general college ed and a boss and bills and of course a partner, god, Shouyou–

He isn’t going to know, he resolves to himself, barely ten minutes after waking up. Usually the first day isn’t that bad. I’ll power through today and spend tomorrow in bed, I’ll sleep it off.

And power through, he does. Maybe he doesn’t do it well or completely subtly, but he does. He keeps every conversation with Shouyou brief and makes excuses about leaving early when he really doesn’t have to. Shouyou questions the integrity of his words (and his footing, too, actually–Tobio would kick himself for being so obvious if he weren’t already staggering into walls) but can’t discern the problem well enough to call him out on anything. 

So Tobio goes to work that afternoon at a job he hasn’t had long enough to hate or love. He’s only a dishwasher, luckily, and the restaurant’s only open for lunch so he doesn’t even have that long of a shift. He plows through, makes it through. It’s his night to get dinner so he takes care of that, too, bringing home ramen from their favorite hole in the wall joint. Shouyou won’t stop glancing up at him throughout dinner, but doesn’t question him. He does, however, offer to do Tobio’s part of the dishes. 

Which. 

Tobio would say he could power through that, too, but his head is pounding and he’s kind of scared if he moves too much more tonight he’ll throw up and he really, really doesn’t want that. All he has to do is pretend to be okay for just a little bit longer and then tomorrow he can sleep this whole mess away.

“Are you okay?” Shouyou asks later that night. His hands are covered in soap suds and he’s splashed some dishwater on the front of his shirt, sponge in left hand and bowl in right. “You haven’t been acting like yourself today.” 

“I’m fine,” Tobio says (lies, lies, why does he feel like he has to lie to Shouyou of all people?), but doesn’t let go of the counter’s edge. He doesn’t loosen his grip on it, either. He’s not sure he can. “Are you sure you’ve got the dishes? I don’t mind drying them.” 

“Nah, it’s cool,” Shouyou says, shrugging. “I’ve got an audiobook I was planning to listen to, so it’s fine. You kinda look dead on your feet, I think you should go to bed.” 

It sounds like the best idea Shouyou has had in a very long time, but Tobio of course doesn’t say that. He nods, swallows down his nausea and barely remembers to say, “Goodnight, Shouyou,” before he’s turned and stumbled down the hall toward the bedroom. Shouyou returns the sentiment, but Tobio barely hears it over the ringing in his ears. When had that started? Fantastic. 

He faceplants his side of the bed (which is something mutually decided between them, that they never really talked about or discussed, it just sort of… happened) and breathes in a long, deep breath, relishing the ease on his feet and eyes and skull and god, please stop pounding, please stop pounding, please stop.

He clenches his teeth and digs his fingernails into the sheets. His eyes are burning, and he doesn’t know why, and it’s all he can do to turn his face into the pillow and croak, “Sh-Shit,” when he knows Shouyou isn’t around to hear it. 

In the back of his mind, he’s still resolved to never let Shouyou know about this. He’ll just sleep it off, he’ll be fine, he’s fine, this is fine, Shouyou doesn’t have to know. Tobio isn’t going to disrupt this routine, he isn’t going to ruin the first time in his whole life he’s felt 100% accepted and loved. He isn’t going to ruin it. He ruined it once, with old teammates in a worse time, and he isn’t going to ruin it again. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tobio wakes up in the middle of the night and feels like he’s dying. All those times he was sick before, all those times he was hospitalized as a child because his body couldn’t fight off the fever on its own, or because he was dehydrated–nothing compares to this, nothing could. 

His eyes burn with tears before he’s coherent enough to know why. His head is–

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, his head–

It overwhelms his thought process, every coherency he thought he had, and it goes ahead and takes over all the coherency he’d been grasping for. It hurts, it pulsates like there are fireworks going off inside of it, ping-ponging against the insides and outsides of his skull, then catching in orbit and spiraling round and round and round androundandroundandround–

He’s not even sitting up why is he spinning– 

He’s pulling his hair, grinding his teeth hard enough to worsen the pounding, squeezing his eyes shut against the impending tears he doesn’t think he has the energy to stop, and no amount of digging his nails into his skull makes it any more bearable, it doesn’t dissipate at all, nothing helps– 

He can feel Shouyou’s warmth beside him, somehow, in the back of his mind and nearly overwhelmed by everything else. Shouyou is sleeping soundly on his own half of the bed, vibrant hair almost too bright to look at in the dark space. Tobio wants to squeeze his eyes shut again but there’s something comforting about Shouyou’s presence in the darkness. Even if he is sleeping. 

Don’t ruin this. Don’t ruin this. Don’t ruin this. 

His head burns. It courses through him like poison, hitting every soft spot and hard spot alike. There’s acid in his throat brought up by the pound in his skull and his stomach is in knots. His chest hurts. He feels like he does after playing a match for too long and trying too hard. Only worse.

Don’t ruin this don’t ruin this don’t ruin this don’t ruin this

He can’t. 

It hurts and it burns and he can’t. 

Don’truinthisdon’truinthisdon’truinthis–

“Sh-Shou–” He chokes that much out before he hauls back, clenching his teeth, yanking his hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp. He hopes he hasn’t drawn blood, but he can’t tell and barely cares. “Sh-Shouyou, please–” 

This time he manages to detangle one hand and reach out, giving Shouyou a poke on the shoulder. Shouyou is the lighter sleeper of the two, and it doesn’t take much to rouse him. He stirs, shifts, and the slight jostle of the bed almost makes Tobio throw up. 

“Mngn? W’ssup?” 

You’re going to ruin it you’re going to ruin it you’re going to r

Tobio gulps back whatever’s in his throat, tears, bile, it doesn’t matter anymore and he can’t tell up from down. “Shou, I–” (Shouyou freezes. Tobio can’t see his face. His voice doesn’t feel like his own and it only worsens the hurt.) “Pl–Please, I–help me–” 

It’s barely audible. He doesn’t know how Shouyou hears it. 

Shouyou is sitting up at once, hands on Tobio’s shoulders. One trails up to touch his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Shouyou’s voice is wide awake, if shaky. “What happened? Tobes?” 

“S-Sick.” Tobio forces it out, chokes on the exertion. “My head, I–c-can’t–” 

“Okay.” Shouyou’s voice is somewhat steadier now. But just somewhat. “Okay, okay. It’s okay, you’re okay. Is it just your head? What else?” 

“D-Don’t know.” He thought he’d feel worse waking Shouyou, but hearing his voice, feeling his touch, eases him into a certain sense of calm. It doesn’t ease the pain, but it helps him cope with it. “I-It just–it just hurts, it hurts–really bad–” 

“Okay, okay.” Shouyou’s hand presses to his forehead, smooths back his hair. “Yeah, that’s a fever. Hey–” His opposite hand comes to settle on Tobio’s. “Let go, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself. You can hold my hand instead if you want, okay? It’s okay, just let go.”  

He gently unclenches Tobio’s fingers from his hair, somehow, and threads their hands together immediately. Tobio wants to cry. He could already be crying for all he knows. Shouyou’s fingers card through his hair and it makes the pain just a little more bearable. Tobio leans into it and tries to breathe. 

Shouyou sits with him and lets Tobio rest his head on his thigh. Everything is muddled and hazy and now that Shouyou is holding his hand, and petting his hair, he can close his eyes again and still have reassurance of Shouyou’s presence. 

“Hey.” Shouyou’s voice is quiet. “Hey, I need to get you some medicine, okay? And take your temperature. I won’t be gone a minute, I’ll even run.”

Shouyou has run through the apartment before, and almost skidded out and concussed himself on the table. Even in pain and barely there, Tobio manages to grind out, “Don’t you friggin dare.”

Shouyou laughs quietly. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I won’t. But I’ll be back as fast as I can, okay? Hang in there.” 

He keeps his promise (he must) because the next thing Tobio knows, he’s in Shouyou’s lap again with a thermometer being held under his tongue and what feels like a cold plaster on his forehead. He must have zoned out.

The thermometer is pulled back. Shouyou hisses. “Oh. Yikes. Okay, but it’s not as high as I was scared of. I think you’ll be okay–I’m still gonna give you some medicine, though, do you think you can stomach it? Was that a stupid question?” 

Tobio turns his face into Shouyou’s stomach with a moan he doesn’t remember making. Shouyou’s fingers run through his hair again soothingly. 

“Okay, we’ll wait on the medicine. How’s your head now?” 

“Distant.” Shouyou is a good distraction. He’s just loud enough and just present enough. Never too much. “Th-Thanks.” 

“Aw, you don’t gotta thank me. But you’re welcome, anyway. Does anyone in your family get migraines? My mom used to get them–maybe being sick triggered one?”

Tobio is zoning out again. Something about Shouyou’s voice is just. Nice. It does bring up the pain in his head, but it’s a worthy trade-off. 

“Is this why you were so weird today?” Shouyou asks, in a voice that suggests he already knows the answer and isn’t expecting one, anyway. “You should’ve told me sooner, stupid. I would’ve helped.” 

“S-Sorry,” Tobio croaks, and somewhere in the pit of his stomach not yet claimed by nausea is guilt, just as sickening. “D-Didn’t… wa-wanna throw it all on you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Wanted you to be able to rely on me.” His head still pounds but it’s a little easier to talk, now that he’s been doing it. “Gotta keep up with my half of the d-deal. C-Couldn’t… let you down.” 

“Oh my god are you for real?” 

Tobio has to bite the inside of his cheek. “I…” 

“Wait, no, seriously. After everything we’ve been through, all those years, every volleyball match and every confided secret and literally everything, you don’t think I rely on you?”

Tobio shrinks back and feels suddenly small, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t meant to be. “I–I don’t know.” 

Shouyou sighs, but there’s no small amount of endearment in it, and he strokes Tobio’s hair again and squeezes his hand.

“I’ve always been able to rely on you, Tobio. Little things, big things, all of it. I don’t think there’s ever been a time where I felt like I couldn’t trust you.”

“B-But–” Tobio tries to think, tries to find logic behind his emotions but he’s in pain and he feels terrible and Shouyou is just, Shouyou and he can’t filter himself. “But you can’t now, I-I don’t know if I c-can do everything I’m supposed to tom-tomorrow or th-this week and I–” 

“Tobio.“ Shouyou cuts him off, flicks his shoulder lightly. “You are. So stupid.” 

It’s said with such fondness that it makes Tobio’s head spin. Again. “Wh-What?” 

“’What’?” Shouyou repeats in the same disarmingly sincere tone. “Tobio, I love you. You know that I love you. And maybe we’ll be burdens on each other every now and then, but that doesn’t–change anything. That’s just part of what it means to have relationships, sometimes we do have to pick up each other’s slack. And I don’t mind picking up yours, because I love you. You do the same for me all the time.” 

Tobio’s heart is tight, and so is his throat. “I-I–Shou–” 

Shouyou’s thumb traces his cheek, and it’s only now Tobio realizes he’d started crying. “I know you’re sick right now, and you don’t feel like yourself, and this is probably a conversation we should have when you’re feeling better, but. Yeah. Sorry, I should’ve saved the emotional compromisation for another time, huh?” 

It draws a hoarse laugh from Tobio, one that quickly turns into a pained yelp that has him clenching his teeth and Shouyou wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer. 

“Sorrysorrysorrysorry,” Shouyou hurries, a little frantic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were gonna laugh–It wasn’t funny, moron, you’re ridiculous–” 

Tobio gets his breath back, and his head is still pounding, but this time all he can feel is worn down and exhausted. Especially with Shouyou holding him this close, with Shouyou this warm, with his hands stroking his hair and side.

“Really, though, Shou,” Tobio breathes out. “Thank you. I’ll tell you. Next time.” 

“Good, good.” Shouyou is calm again, and it calms Tobio further. “You should get some sleep, I’ll turn off your alarms for tomorrow. And if I wake up and you’re doing chores, I may in fact kick you.” 

“Noted.” 

Shouyou squeezes his hand. “Take it easy, alright? I love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

Shouyou hums an acknowledgment, and strokes Tobio’s hair gently long after Tobio has fallen asleep.