Soup for the Sick - TezuFuji drabble
Title: Soup for the Sick
Rating: G
Word Count: 609 words
Summary: Tezuka is sick, so Fuji helps him out a bit.
A/N: I swear, I wrote this in ten minutes. And it is a drabble. ...Take that,
ketchupblood .
Soup for the Sick?
“Syuusuke, for the last time, I’m fine,” Tezuka said crossly, glaring at the smiling tensai who leaned casually against the doorframe from across the room.
Fuji raised one delicate eyebrow and Tezuka rolled his eyes irritably.
“It’s just a little cough,” Tezuka muttered, looking away. He didn’t like explaining things out in big words, and with Fuji he never had to - Fuji was one of those people who could look at somebody’s face and immediately tell what they were thinking of.
“Saa, Kunimitsu, I told you that playing tennis in that cold weather without a jacket would make you catch a cold.”
Tezuka’s response to this was to scoff at Fuji’s claim, except that he was cut off by a slight bout of coughing.
Fuji’s eyes had been closed all of this time and he had on his usual lightly smiling face - but all of a sudden, his eyes flicked open to reveal those rare, piercing blue orbs that bored into Tezuka.
“Wait here,” Fuji ordered, and he disappeared back into the kitchen of Tezuka’s house, where they had been doing homework before abandoning it in pursuit of other activities before Fuji had felt Tezuka’s unusually high temperature and had fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen.
Tezuka folded himself into the armchair he had been sitting in before, wondering what Fuji was up to now. Syuusuke was so unpredictable; he could either be baking a cake or blowing up the kitchen sink.
Half an hour later, when Tezuka had picked back up his English book and was forcing himself to read through the phrases, Fuji walked back into the room, bearing a steaming bowl.
Fuji sat down on the armrest of Tezuka’s seat, and Tezuka saw that Fuji was holding a large bowl of steaming soup with what looked like noodles, and bits of chicken.
Fuji took a large spoonful of it and held it towards Tezuka’s mouth. “Eat,” Fuji said softly, and Tezuka got a sudden chill, as if there would be severe consequences if he didn’t.
“Syuusuke, really, I’m not hungry-”
“It’s only chicken noodle soup, Kunimitsu. It’ll help you with your cold.”
Tezuka eyed the soup spoon dolefully. “You could have spiked it with wasabi.”
Fuji laughed, but it wasn’t a wicked, sadistic laugh. “Maybe I did.”
The smell of the soup was getting to Tezuka now, and it smelled absolutely heavenly, and it was nice and warm…
“Come on Kunimitsu, before it gets cold.”
Tezuka muttered incoherently to himself, something about letting his guard down, and resignedly opened his mouth and allowed Fuji to feed him the spoonful of soup.
Warmth pervaded the inside of his mouth, and the noodles practically melted on his tongue. It was a sharp burst of flavor that was savory and also slightly spicy.
“It’s very good,” Tezuka mumbled through a mouthful of noodles. “You’re a good cook.”
Fuji beamed at him. “I used to make this for Yuuta all the time.”
The lighter-haired boy fed Tezuka another spoonful. Tezuka bit into a soft substance that immediately filled his mouth with searing spiciness and the too-distinct flavor of wasabi.
He glared at Fuji, his patented Tezuka death glare, and thought that if he didn’t love Fuji he would probably end up killing the tennis tensai sooner or later. “You spiked it with wasabi,” he stated blandly, trying to keep his eyes from watering.
Fuji grinned and took a spoonful for himself, seeming not to care that Tezuka had eaten from the same spoon and therefore, it was very likely that Tezuka’s germs would get transferred to Fuji.
“It tastes better this way, ne, Kunimitsu?”
-fin-
hehe. :D
Rating: G
Word Count: 609 words
Summary: Tezuka is sick, so Fuji helps him out a bit.
A/N: I swear, I wrote this in ten minutes. And it is a drabble. ...Take that,
ketchupblood .
Soup for the Sick?
“Syuusuke, for the last time, I’m fine,” Tezuka said crossly, glaring at the smiling tensai who leaned casually against the doorframe from across the room.
Fuji raised one delicate eyebrow and Tezuka rolled his eyes irritably.
“It’s just a little cough,” Tezuka muttered, looking away. He didn’t like explaining things out in big words, and with Fuji he never had to - Fuji was one of those people who could look at somebody’s face and immediately tell what they were thinking of.
“Saa, Kunimitsu, I told you that playing tennis in that cold weather without a jacket would make you catch a cold.”
Tezuka’s response to this was to scoff at Fuji’s claim, except that he was cut off by a slight bout of coughing.
Fuji’s eyes had been closed all of this time and he had on his usual lightly smiling face - but all of a sudden, his eyes flicked open to reveal those rare, piercing blue orbs that bored into Tezuka.
“Wait here,” Fuji ordered, and he disappeared back into the kitchen of Tezuka’s house, where they had been doing homework before abandoning it in pursuit of other activities before Fuji had felt Tezuka’s unusually high temperature and had fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen.
Tezuka folded himself into the armchair he had been sitting in before, wondering what Fuji was up to now. Syuusuke was so unpredictable; he could either be baking a cake or blowing up the kitchen sink.
Half an hour later, when Tezuka had picked back up his English book and was forcing himself to read through the phrases, Fuji walked back into the room, bearing a steaming bowl.
Fuji sat down on the armrest of Tezuka’s seat, and Tezuka saw that Fuji was holding a large bowl of steaming soup with what looked like noodles, and bits of chicken.
Fuji took a large spoonful of it and held it towards Tezuka’s mouth. “Eat,” Fuji said softly, and Tezuka got a sudden chill, as if there would be severe consequences if he didn’t.
“Syuusuke, really, I’m not hungry-”
“It’s only chicken noodle soup, Kunimitsu. It’ll help you with your cold.”
Tezuka eyed the soup spoon dolefully. “You could have spiked it with wasabi.”
Fuji laughed, but it wasn’t a wicked, sadistic laugh. “Maybe I did.”
The smell of the soup was getting to Tezuka now, and it smelled absolutely heavenly, and it was nice and warm…
“Come on Kunimitsu, before it gets cold.”
Tezuka muttered incoherently to himself, something about letting his guard down, and resignedly opened his mouth and allowed Fuji to feed him the spoonful of soup.
Warmth pervaded the inside of his mouth, and the noodles practically melted on his tongue. It was a sharp burst of flavor that was savory and also slightly spicy.
“It’s very good,” Tezuka mumbled through a mouthful of noodles. “You’re a good cook.”
Fuji beamed at him. “I used to make this for Yuuta all the time.”
The lighter-haired boy fed Tezuka another spoonful. Tezuka bit into a soft substance that immediately filled his mouth with searing spiciness and the too-distinct flavor of wasabi.
He glared at Fuji, his patented Tezuka death glare, and thought that if he didn’t love Fuji he would probably end up killing the tennis tensai sooner or later. “You spiked it with wasabi,” he stated blandly, trying to keep his eyes from watering.
Fuji grinned and took a spoonful for himself, seeming not to care that Tezuka had eaten from the same spoon and therefore, it was very likely that Tezuka’s germs would get transferred to Fuji.
“It tastes better this way, ne, Kunimitsu?”
-fin-
hehe. :D