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It had started as nothing but a simple itch on her throat. Aoi thought she could make it go away by ingesting enough cough drops, drinking enough teas and talking as little as possible, only in simple, short sentences – it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her. Only Tsubaki seemed to notice, but she didn't do more than stare at her with her round, wondering eyes. Maybe Hiiro did, too, since she noticed how eager she was to refill her flask with chamomile tea. And… okay, perhaps Nagisa too, who asked one too many times if she was alright.
She wasn't exactly being subtle.
The next rehearsal was uncomfy and, frankly, insurmountable. She could feel all her joints aching as if she had ran a marathon the previous day, and thus her movements were sloppy and messy, which reflected sharply in her mixing. For the first few songs, no one commented anything, but after what was probably the worst rendition of Calendula they had ever played, Hiiro turned around to face her and asked, in that all 5oo familiar worried tone of hers:
"Aoi-kun… Is something wrong?" She slowly carressed her arm, but even that kind gesture felt like her muscles were being torn apart.
Then she decided that not bringing it up would be useless. She pretended not to notice how Tsubaki, both in front of and below her where she stood, stared at her with a piercing yet painful gaze.
"Um…" She started, with her voice way hoarser than it had been earlier or even the day before, "...Sorry, Hiiro! I think I've caught a cold, or something."
Then, turning to the rest of her unit mates, she announced:
"I'm sorry for causing you guys trouble."
Nagisa opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Tsubaki, who nearly shouted:
"Oh, Aoi! If you're sick, you shouldn't push yourself so hard"
Aoi couldn't help but smile. Gosh, it was so obvious that she had probably been worried about her. Only then did Nagisa speak, hoping to calm her down:
"C'mon, Tsubaki, cut her some slack!"
"No, she's right," she clarified, almost in a whisper, "I should take better care of myself. I just wanted to polish some stuff for our next live show. I honestly didn't feel this…"
This what? They all looked at her expectantly, the obvious question hanging motionlessly inside their mouths. Aoi bit her tongue – did she really want to make them pity her? Of course, there was no way out now:
"...this sick, this morning."
"Your throat hurts, right?" Hiiro asked, and Aoi knew this time she didn't owe it to her mind-reading or her reliable Tarot cards.
Her answer came in the form of a nod, as the pressure inside her throat seemed to increase tenfold thanks to how much she had spoken.
"...Do you feel anything else?" followed Aoi, "I have some medicine with me, if you need it."
"You know, you should tell Masaki-san you're goin' home early. There's no way she's letting you practice like this."
Aoi smiled once more, warmth invading her insides like the soft, fluffy blanket she wished she could be wrapped inside in that moment.
Then, a deep voice came from the hallway behind ALTER-EGO's stage's closed door:
"I can hear you, you know."
The door opened in an instant, revealing, of course, Masaki-san, with her unwavering serious complexion and her hands buried deep within her suit's pants' pocket.
"You may leave early if you're feeling this sick. Specially since it's obviously affecting your performance." Aoi didn't feel any embarrassment stemming from Masaki-san's comment. "Consider this an exception due to the level of your latest performances."
The rest of RONDO smiled warmly in silence. Aoi replied:
"Thank you, Masaki-san."
And started packing up her things, sluggishly, barely able to move herself along the dark stage.
A warm hand interrupted her movement, settling itself atop hers.
“Aoi-kun…”
She looked up, recognizing Hiiro’s soft tone and the warm smile it came hand in hand with instantly.
“Let me help you, okay?”
She wanted to digress, to beg her to please keep on working just like the rest –Nagisa was tuning her guitar, Tsubaki was checking her notes on their new song–, but she couldn’t find the words inside her damaged throat.
(And, perhaps, a part of her she wouldn’t acknowledge ached for some help).
“...Okay. Thank you, Hiiro.”
So she did, in silence. It didn’t take long. Aoi never took much with her to rehearsals. Or anywhere, really. She said she didn’t really have many personal belongings to bring aside from her laptop and a few pendrives, and on all accounts it was most likely true.
“...Are you sure you don’t need any medicine? Maybe some you want to take with you?” Hiiro insisted as Aoi zipped her bag up.
“Don’t worry,” she answered, “I have all I need at home.”
…Did she, now? She couldn’t remember the last time she got sick and she couldn’t recall if she had restocked since then. Hiiro didn’t seem too convinced, either, judging by her sharp pout, as funny as it seemed.
“...Well, alright,” she conceded, and then changed her expression for a sweet smile to confess: “I’ll check up on you after we’re done.”
Aoi knew she couldn’t hide her blush properly. She didn’t want to be a bother. She specially didn’t want to bother Hiiro, who already did too much for the three of them and then some, but she knew nothing could deter her in such a task – especially because she did it out of the sheer kindness of her heart. Hiiro was surprisingly pure, all things considered. She nodded quietly and started making her way to the door when Hiiro got back to work but not without gifting her a coquettish wink, then waved goodbye to her unit mates and Masaki-san, who answered with getwells and takecares.
And then she got home and remembered she hated being sick.
Perhaps not always, or… No, yes, she had always hated being sick. Even long before moving on her own – she didn’t like when her parents took care of her, which she never knew if it was because it was them or because she simply didn’t like how they did it, but regardless it had become even worse now that she had to go through it on her own, no matter how many years of the same exact routine she followed. Eight years she had spent cooped alone in this hospital-white apartment, and yet she hated being alone in it as much as the first day – not that anyone would ever know.
She didn’t mind taking care of herself. She never had. It hadn’t been hard after the first year of living alone, she grew into it quickly, youaresomatureaoiyouaresuchagrownupyoudosowell and all. The problem rested simply in the fact that the silence in her apartment seemed even louder when she felt unwell, the sleepless nights went from being a fun little treat to an absolute nightmare to pull through, and whichever comfort any friendly visits brought were eclipsed by the pressure she knew she was putting on them.
She consoled herself by insisting it’d pass, as it always did. Just a few days of rest and she’d be back at school, at ALTER-EGO, at life, but more importantly she’d be back with RONDO. Her family. And she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.
So for that afternoon all she’d have to do was take her medicine, lay down, and sleep the day away.
Which she tried, but was awoken by two very unavoidable things: the sound of keys ringing at the door, and what she was sure was a temperature.
“I’m home, Aoi-kun!”
Yes, it was Hiiro. Thank God it was Hiiro, anyway. She didn’t have any strength left in her to reply, but of course Hiiro went inside her room in no time, and found her in what Aoi thought was a pretty deplorable state: cooped up in bed under at least two blankets, disheveled, sweaty, and in the same exact clothes she had seen her earlier. At least, Hiiro didn’t seem fazed by the sight, but was relieved to find her awake.
Without waiting for another word, Hiiro sat on the very edge of the bed and touched her forehead with a cold hand –which most likely wasn’t even cold to begin with–, and said:
“...Oh my, do you have a thermometer around here, Aoi-kun?”
“Bathroom. First drawer.” Aoi explained shortly, only to find her voice even farther gone.
Hiiro didn’t say anything, but caressed Aoi’s forehead with her fingers and then left for the bathroom. Her sick companion, meanwhile, could barely move, but found it within her to reach one of her hands to the place where Hiiro had been touching so tenderly mere seconds before. Her first though amidst the feverish sea of her mind was:
Fuck. What is wrong with me.
Aoi remembered, lulled by the sound of moving objects and doors in her bathroom, a conversation she had overheard from Nagisa and Tsubaki weeks ago. She, truth be told, was so used to the constant bickering between those two that she rarely paid any mind to what was being said between them, usually nothing more than bantering and teasing (mostly on Nagisa’s ruthless side). That day, however, she had learnt a new word:
“Honestly, Tsubaki, you’re definitely just touchstarved.”
“Wh-?! Nagisa! I’m not!!”
And then their talk faded into background noise as her thoughts were consumed by that one compound word. Perhaps saying that she had never heard of it before would have been cheating, but she had never… considered it before.
Nagisa’s teasing was never to be taken seriously, but to Aoi it made sense this time: Tsubaki, as she had recounted several times, had spent most of her life almost completely on her own –when not pestered by the lively Rika, at least, who was powerful enough to even befriend entire crowds–. Therefore, it wasn’t outlandish to think she probably still felt lonely, the leftovers of a sensation she hadn’t been able to shake off for almost twenty years. She felt so sad for her. But she already did all she could to drive those feelings away from her.
And then, the scalding follow up: Aoi had lived a similar life, albeit in extremely different circumstances.
Could she be harboring similar feelings?
And here she had just found the answer to said question, and she could feel the blush on her cheeks getting mixed up with the irritation on her skin the heat brought.
Hiiro had come back, she didn’t know when, and was trying to take Aoi’s covers off. She helped her in the process and thanked her with a weak smile, then took the thermometer herself and put it under her shirt, careful to not let it move too much when she tucked herself back in. Hiiro turned on her nightlight and spared a glance towards her alarm clock. 5:34. Aoi sure didn’t expect it to be that late…
And she didn’t know what to do to fill the silence that ensued. Specially because she didn’t really want to try and speak, lest she felt even more pain than she was in that moment.
“How are you feeling, Aoi-kun?” Hiiro asked, but before Aoi could force an answer out of herself, she clarified: “Just nod if you’re feeling better and shake your head if you’re feeling worse.”
Aoi shook her head softly. Hiiro cooed and then did something that to Aoi was even more unthinkable: she ruffled her hand in her already messy hair with such love it made her feel even weirder than she already did.
The breath that came out of her dry mouth was shaky and unstable. She loved Hiiro, of course she did – she loved Hiiro more than anyone else in the world, and this was something both of them were aware of which needed no acknowledgement, but there was a bizarre unspoken agreement that kept physical affection to a minimum. It wasn’t because they didn’t enjoy it, quite the opposite, but Aoi had kept it this way because she knew it got her like this – all mushy and vulnerable and weird, and what if it weirded Hiiro out too? Hiiro, unlike her, was… well-adjusted. Normal. She wasn’t like her or Tsubaki, she was loving and had always been loved back, and there was no way she knew how it felt to be so desperate it made all the basis of her beliefs come undone beneath her, much less how it felt to be so alone. It wasn’t something Aoi had even considered before. She had felt alone, yes, but it was so easy to ignore after she had become used to it, so why did it always have to come back when she was feeling sick, and especially, why now??
“Hey, Aoi.”
It was enough to pull her out of her thoughts for the time being.
“Mm?”
“...You like it?”
She thought of asking “like what?”, but there was no point in pretending to be blind now, even if her eyes were tightly shut to prevent the strong light from hurting them. Hiiro was smart, anyway. And too perceptive. That was one of the reasons why she hated that The Feeling was attacking her now, because if someone WOULD notice, it was bound to be her girlfriend. She tightly gripped onto the mattress’ cover, and hummed with malaise and shame heavy on her voice:
“...Mmmyeah…”
She dreaded to say another word, feared that anything else would expose her further to the one she wanted the most to reveal herself to, but at the same time yearned who would never see past her hardened exterior.
Hiiro smiled, but Aoi couldn’t see it.
“You should tell me, you know. The things you like and the things you want me to do.”
She definitely had a temperature, because she couldn’t stop herself from answering:
“...I know that, but… It’s embarrassing…”
And then she dug her teeth into her lower lip, remorseful. Hiiro, at least, seemed amused.
"Embarrassing, mm? Now that's a word I don't hear coming from you often."
"I know."
"You know many things. Why are you embarrassed, Aoi? It's, well," she stopped for a second, taking time to select her words carefully, "it's just me."
"It's because it's you," she replied without giving herself more than a few seconds to think, trying to exorcize the words out without even trying to fully process them.
"Because it's me," Hiiro mindlessly echoed.
It was that, yes, but it was also something else, something that ran much deeper, something Aoi had realized about herself mere months before. She wasn't sure she could speak it into existence yet – she didn't want to burden Hiiro with her childish wants and needs even further, ans she didn't want her to know. But Hiiro knew many things, too. Hiiro always knew more, always knew too much, always knew more than what was being spoken.
Before she could decide to speak, Hiiro continued talking, almost doing it as if she had only herself to listen:
"I've known you for far longer than anyone else," she smirked, and Aoi was sure of what she'd say next. "I don't think you can keep any secrets from me. Unless you have a reason to be embarrassed, but since it's just me I can't really find any."
"It's nothing," Aoi found the worst excuse for herself. Hiiro wasn't buying it. She sighed –the air trembled out of her overworked lungs– and opened her mouth to speak words she wasn't sure she wanted out in the open: "It's just… I don't know. I'm not used to this, I guess. I'm not used to… contact of any kind in the slightest."
She was familiar with warmth. She knew how it felt. In her dreams she did, at least, and now she knew that feeling was beyond mere fantasy.
"And I don't know if this is normal, but whenever I feel… that warmth," the warmth of others, warmth beyond mere companionship, "I just… want to run away from it just as much as I want to get close to it."
She wondered if she was making any sense, but she couldn't make out Hiiro's expression from where she was at all. Then she tried to make herself coherent, she tried to ease her thoughts into understanding:
"I… think… it scares me because, um."
"It's alright." Hiiro cut her off. "We told you today already, didn't we? That you don't have to force yourself if you're sick."
Hiiro glanced at the clock again and reached to the thermometer in a hurry.
"Oh. Yeah, you do have a temperature. Wait here," and she dashed towards the kitchen, no doubt in search of more supplies.
Aoi sighed, although it wasn't an utter defeat. It was still bittersweet, though. She had opened herself up much more than she would've liked to, and yet she still couldn't see deep enough into herself to share what the root of all of it was. Hiiro came back with two small water bottles in her hands and placed them in Aoi's nightstand, from where she took a box of ibuprofen and danced it along her hand.
"I took some earlier already."
"Ah. Then we'll just have to wait."
Aoi reached out for one of the water bottles and took a long sip from it. Hiiro stared at her in silence, undoubtedly still thinking about Aoi's words, even if she didn't show it at all. Aoi knew that she was always scheming though, her brain processing information at a scary pace that seemed unmatched with anyone else's.
"Aoi-kun." She called very softly.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind if I laid here next to you?"
Aoi smiled. Even her face muscles strained from the effort:
"...Of course not."
It didn’t take Hiiro much to get comfortable next to her. She didn’t need to say another word. Aoi didn’t feel better physically, but the warmth of relief washed swiftly over her insides. Hiiro didn’t need to touch her to make her feel good. Her presence was more than enough to remind her that everything could be right for a second if she just let it be. Unconsciously, Aoi buried herself between Hiiro’s arms, who embraced her just as mindlessly.
If everything was perfect in this moment, then, why couldn’t she help but feel like it was so frail?