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angstyaches · 8 months

Note

thinking about mitsuko and bastian rn 😈

can you write sick bastian with caretaker mitsuko? we’ve never seen him sick before, right? 🍄

Hahaha OOPS, this got long.

Context: Takes place shortly before they become a couple (I thought that would be better, for the ✨angst✨). Also: a gold star for anyone who knows why Mitsuko growls and pulls away near the end 👀

Word Count: 4,700ish

CW: work stress, sickness, fever, dizziness, confusion, vomit, hiding sickness, food description, pining.

___

Sucking in air through a mask – when most of that air seemed to be made of steam – was proving more and more difficult as time went on. Bastian was starting to see stars at the edges of his vision, and it was getting less and less likely that he could keep powering through the ache that was building in his temples.

Somehow, every time he felt he was about to lose all feeling in his body and black out on the floor, he kept going.

He wasn’t sure if that feeling was met with relief, victory, or disappointment.

“Mendoza!” a raspy voice from across the kitchen barked over all of the other noise – the hissing, the crackling, the whooshing, the bubbling.

Bastian’s skeleton almost leapt out of his skin. For a heavy smoker with bad lungs, Chef Yamashita could make himself heard when needed.

“I need that sauce now!”

“Hai, Chef…” A spike of adrenaline made Bastian’s hands move faster.

For the next twenty seconds or so, his heartbeat was the loudest sound in the kitchen. He blinked and found himself dishing up food with hands that trembled like he was caught up in an earthquake, not in the average Saturday-evening-dinner-time rush.

As the bowls were promptly swept away, Bastian found himself wondering – with a queasy feeling in his stomach – whether the presentation had been up to scratch. He’d been focusing so hard on not spilling something over the edge of the bowl, he hadn’t paid much attention to how it had looked in the bowl. Oh, well. If he’d fucked something up, the owner would read about it online and Bastian would get an earful later.

It was, quite simply, not his problem right now. That was all he had, and he clung to it desperately.

Realising he had nothing to work on for the next few minutes, Bastian ducked away to the bathroom. As rare and wonderful as a toilet break could be, fresh air would have been much more appreciated; unfortunately, the restaurant was on the seventh floor and the only outdoor space adjacent to the kitchen was on the fire escape, and… well, Bastian could do without a bout of vertigo on top of everything else.

He gulped nervously just at the thought of it, his legs swaying as he pictured himself suspended on nothing but a sheet of metal.

As soon as he was alone, Bastian tugged off his face mask and gulped at the air. It wasn’t much cooler in here, but it was marginally less humid than the kitchen. In the mirror, his entire face glistened with sweat, beads of it glistening in the thick strands of his beard. He grimaced as he noticed that the mask in his hand was soaked through, almost transparent. He’d need to grab a fresh one at some point.

Bastian grimaced as he pulled his hand towel out of his pocket and scrubbed it unceremoniously over his face and neck. He ran cold water over his hands and wrists and splashed his cheeks with it. He felt slightly better, his soul no longer eager to evacuate his body to escape the stifling heat. But now that relative silence settled around him, he could no longer ignore the throbbing on either side of his skull, like a big set of tongs was squeezing him and preparing to flip him over.

He planted a hand on the edge of the sink, not liking how weak his arm felt under the weight of his body. The black lines of his tattoos started to swirl back and forth as he stared at them, so he shut his eyes.

And that was so much worse.

Nausea bubbled in the pit of his stomach, hot and acidic, like Bastian had swallowed something nuclear and it was cooking his insides. He threw that onto the ever-growing list of things he just didn’t have time to deal with.

Any second now, he’d hear Chef Yamashita roaring for him.

Five more seconds, he told himself, drawing a deep breath and savouring the tepid ceramic against his palms and the muted murmur of activity on the other side of the walls. None of it was particularly pleasant, but he knew he’d miss it once he was back out there amidst the hustle, bustle, and craziness. Five more seconds, and I’ll get back out there.

___

When he finally broke free of the kitchen and started making his way through the cramped, busy dining space towards the elevator, Bastian was just about ready to drop. He almost seriously considered curling up on the floor and going to sleep under one of the tables, just so he wouldn’t have to make the journey home.

But he forced himself into the elevator and slumped against the wall as the thing moved. His stomach protested at the disorienting shift, and before the doors opened, Bastian had muffled two thick, acidic burps behind his fist.

When the lift opened and the street came into view, so did a woman with two long, smooth pigtails tied at the crown of her head. She was wearing a pair of silky black shorts, and a cropped, puckered white blouse decorated with frills and bows. Her platform Mary Jane shoes made her look taller than she really was, but Bastian knew she’d still go up onto her toes when she hugged him.

He started to move a little faster, no longer caring about the dizziness in his head or the lurching in his stomach. He didn’t care about anything then.

Just Mitsuko.

She looked up from her phone – knowing her, she’d probably been playing Mario Kart – and her face lit up when she saw him coming. God, she was an oasis in the desert, a cool waterfall in the middle of a damp jungle, and all he wanted to do was lose himself in her.

“Hello!” She treated him to a gorgeous little two-handed wave.

Bastian couldn’t even greet her. He just sort of fell against her, scooping her body close to his own.

“Aw,” she said softly, rocking up onto her toes, just like he’d known she would.

For a couple of seconds, Bastian was surrounded by pure bliss. She smelled like honey. Did she know she smelled like honey? Did she intentionally smell like honey?

Then Mitsuko touched her heels to the ground again and freed one arm from the embrace. She seemed to be trying to do something with her other hand. He was in no way ready to end the hug, but it occurred to Bastian that he was pinning her inconveniently in place.

Plus, it wasn’t fair to subject her to the ungodly amount of sweat that was pouring out of him. He stepped away from her, but she didn’t seem at all disgusted or concerned. After all, it was Japan in August, and Bastian worked in an enclosed, fast-paced environment. With fire and hot water.

“Here you are. A present.” She handed him a can of his favourite cold coffee – which he immediately lifted and pressed against the side of his neck, all without breaking contact with her stunningly dark eyes.

“O-oh... thank you,” he said. There was a slight tremour in his voice. He couldn’t recall ever getting emotional over coffee before, but this coffee, coming from her? It seemed to break and heal something in him all at once.

Mitsuko’s eyelids dipped, and her smile deepened.

Bastian followed her out of the building, his smile wavering as the outside air hit him in the face and the throat. The sun had gone down, but the concrete and tarmac remembered the heat of the day, and spewed it back up at the people trudging home or to the izakaya. It was so humid, and Bastian was so thirsty, he was certain there was more water clinging to the outside of his skin than inside his body.

“So, wh-what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t miss you.” Mitsuko smirked over her shoulder. “I just wanted to take a walk.”

Bastian hurried to keep up with her energetic pace. Droplets of sweat clung to the back of his neck and his forehead. “Sure you did, cool girl.”

“And… to get McDonald’s.”

He fidgeted with the pull ring on the can of coffee she’d given him, feeling the condensation from the metal mingling – but not mixing – with the sweat on his hands. With how his stomach felt, the last thing he would have done after work was drink a coffee.

But she had gotten it for him. She had anticipated that he’d appreciate something cold after work. Not only that, she had... gone out of her way to see him? She was wonderful. And right now, the coffee was an extension of her, so it would be wonderful, too.

He cracked the can open and took a short swig. A sickly fluid started to flow into the gaps under his tongue, accompanied by a sharp tingling in his cheeks.

“How was work?”

“Oh, just…” Bastian pressed a finger to his mouth as the sweet, milky liquid seemed to stick in the back of his throat even after swallowing twice. He coughed to clear his throat, eyes widening as it occurred to him that he might just throw up from the contraction.

Thankfully, one more careful swallow got it down, and kept down everything that was already there. The over-production of saliva seemed to fade, too.

Mitsuko cocked her head as they walked, the slightest concern tugging at her face.

“It was just… so busy.”

“Mmm. You look busy.” Mitsuko shook her head at herself. “Mmm? No… dono yo ni...”

“I look like I was busy?”

“Yes. You look bad.”

Bastian let out a weak chuckle. “Mitch. We don’t say that.”

She turned her gaze up towards him, curious.

“’You look bad’ doesn’t really mean ‘you look like you feel bad’, it… It sounds the same as ‘you look ugly’.”

She shook her head and flicked the back of her hand towards Bastian’s torso. When it brushed against his stomach, Bastian had the strong urge to pin it there, imagining that it would soothe the ache a little.

“You’re handsome,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know this.”

Bastian almost choked on a sip of coffee. “Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

He tried to mimic the inquisitive look she’d given him a few months ago, which made her crack another smile as she shrugged.

“You have so many photos of yourself.”

“I what?”

“On your smartphone!”

“Those – I-I – when did you...? Those are for checking my beard after shaving!” Bastian rubbed self-consciously at the side of his neck, instinctively feeling out how bad the stubble below his jawline was. “There are angles you just can’t get with a mirror.”

“You can delete them after look, then.”

“Okay, I also like tracking the progress of its growth…” Bastian poked Mitsuko’s shoulder. All he wanted was to keep hearing her voice. In fact, it was possible that her presence – in addition to the fresh(er) air – was healing him a bit, because he couldn’t stop smiling. “And what are you talking about, cool girl? How many selfies do you have on your phone?”

“They’re for my Insta!”

“It’s the same thing.”

Mitsuko shook her head and caught hold of his elbow. “Crazy boy.”

Bastian felt himself flush. He’d never had any friends who were big on physical contact, but she seemed to feel it was normal and acceptable. He wasn’t complaining; he just hoped she would assume he was sweaty because of the weather, not for some other reason.

He enjoyed walking with her, and listening to her talk about her day, so much that he didn’t mind walking with his head spinning and his stomach doing flips. He took tiny, frequent sips of his coffee and found it wasn’t so bad. He was thirstier than he’d realised, and it was helping to cool him down.

His pace did slow, however, as Mitsuko pointed towards the McDonald��s sign. The yellow ‘M’ had no business glowing so brightly amongst the cluster of signs full of kanji that Bastian couldn’t read. Even katakana was proving tricky for him in this state.

“You... weren’t joking about wanting McDonald’s?”

“Nope! Do you want something?” Mitsuko asked.

He peered up into the restaurant. The tills were close to the door, to prioritise takeaways, which made the ten people waiting to order and collect their food seem like a dense crowd.

Not to mention the smell of potato fries sizzling in oil hit him like a punch to the gut; after being stuck in the kitchen all day, the last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by the smell of food.

“No, no.” Bastian was trembling, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably. “I’ll wait for you here. I already had dinner at the restaurant.”

The flicker of surprise in Mitsuko’s eyes made his stomach flutter.

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t let go of his arm. As much as he adored being so close to her, Bastian prayed she let go soon, because he was certain that he was going to need to burp in the next minute or two.

Luckily, she pulled away, blissfully unaware of the chaotic tossing of his stomach.

“Just a moment.”

“Take your time.” It was hard not to sound like he was begging.

He grimaced as he watched her go inside, and let the fake smile drop away as soon as she was gone.

He took a few steps down the street and sagged against a wall. Traffic noise swirled in his head and seemed to come from all around, not just the road. He felt sweat droplets coarse down through his leg hairs. He had stomach cramps so intense that it was a miracle he’d been standing and walking upright this entire time.

“Urp – ugh.” Bastian smacked his lips, wishing he could dispel the sweet flavour of the coffee. The last thing he’d eaten had been a portion of fish and rice mid-morning, and on top of everything else, he was tasting it again now. Right down to the parsley seasoning.

His stomach rumbled again, and he felt the vibrations all the way up in the back of his throat.

Not good. He’d have to think of some excuse not to keep hanging out with Mitsuko. He needed to get home. He was headed for a disaster, and he’d rather she were nowhere near him when that happened.

The way she’d looked at him just now... Was it possible that she was feeling something similar to what he was feeling? Not the nausea, dizziness, and general unpleasantness, but... the other feeling? The one that had prodded at his mind, kept him awake, made his heart skip beats, ever since they’d become friends?

It sounded too perfect to be true. But if there was a chance, he wasn’t about to mess it up.

“Hey.”

Bastian jumped, swallowing a mixture of saliva and acid. He smiled weakly at the sight of Mitsuko stepping out of the restaurant. Crap. He hadn’t even had a chance to get any burps up, or to think of an excuse to go home.

“Hey. That was... quick.”

“Uh-huh.” She was propping up a paper bag between her belly and her elbow. “It’s called fast food, Bastian.”

“Yeah, that’s... true.”

Although Mitsuko was clearly ready to get going, Bastian couldn’t bring himself to hoist his body away from the support of the wall, but he knew he needed to. Mitsuko hadn’t noticed his unusual posture yet – she was busy rummaging in her paper bag for a couple of fries, which she popped into her mouth – but she would, and she’d worry.

Oh, but the smell of the food was outside with him now, turning his stomach with its aroma of salt and grease.

A few more minutes, Bastian told himself. A few more minutes, and he could break down. Once he’d made his excuses, he just needed to get to the station, say goodbye to her, get on the train, and get home.

He could do this.

He stood up straight with a smile.

Mitsuko pulled her hand out of her McDonald's bag. She was holding a chicken nugget between her fingers, but instead of bringing it to her mouth, she was extending it towards Bastian.

"Would you like one?"

Bastian took one look at the crispy, gnarled coating of the nugget, and his teeth did him the unnecessary favour of conjuring up how the spongy texture of the chicken would feel as he bit through it.

And suddenly he was bent double, retching from the very pit of his stomach, as Mitsuko tottered backwards on her chunky shoes.

"Bastian!" she screamed.

His first instinct was to beg her not to be so loud, not to draw any more attention to them; but before he could say anything, he was doubling over again, his insides roiling and clenching as he dispelled some more thick, orange vomit onto the sidewalk. It splattered out in tiny droplets, speckling the concrete, and Bastian couldn’t help but wonder how many times this particular path had been the victim of someone’s stomach contents.

Mitsuko had a hand on his back, and she was fretting away in quickfire Japanese that his brain couldn’t even begin to keep up with. It wasn’t until she switched to English again that he began to feel like she was actually speaking to him.

“Bastian, how long do you feel sick?”

“I –” Bastian raised his head, and Mitsuko’s face split into two blurry copies of itself. He sagged against the wall again, clumsily sidestepping the pungent puddle he’d created. “Since I – mmph – ”

He broke off into a wet belch that felt like it had gurgled up from very low in his stomach, even deeper than his belly button. He gently pressed a hand to his queasy gut; he’d resisted doing this so far, but since being humbled by the reality of puking in front of her, he wasn’t so much bothered anymore.

“I’m s-sorry, Mitch.”

Her dark eyes widened as she tilted her head, peering up into his face as though she’d lost something in the thickness of his beard or his eyebrows. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t want you to...” Bastian paused, eyelids fluttering against a wave of vertigo. He held fast against another bubbling belch that tickled his throat, and managed to swallow this back one down. “To see me like this.”

“Crazy boy. Dousho ka na...” Mitsuko mumbled, rummaging in her handbag for her phone.

That’s it, Bastian thought, panic seizing hold of his thumping heart. She was surely about to block him on social media, walk away, and never contact him again. And who could blame her? He was a disgusting mess, and she was stunning, elegant, perfect.

A burning streak of annoyance spliced the nausea for a moment. How had he let himself consider that she liked him?

He lowered his gaze, and it was then that he realised her glossy platform shoes had been in the splash zone during that second, powerful heave. His sick was streaking against the toes and buckles, and tiny splatters had made it into the white, frilled cotton of her socks.

Shit. Bastian didn’t often cry – didn't often feel the need – but a sob pressed on his sore, abused throat just then. Either the fever was truly messing him up, or he was in way deeper than he’d even realised.

She was the coolest girl he’d ever met, and he was a sweaty, struggling entry-level cook with barely-passable Japanese and what was possibly the most toxic-smelling stomach acid on Earth. He wished he could have at least moved away from the mess before collapsing against the wall.

While Mitsuko was on her phone, the blurry shape of a passer-by caught Bastian’s hazy attention. The person turned their head to scowl at his vomit on the ground, but instead of eyeing him next, they eyed Mitsuko. She was oblivious, still tapping at something on her phone screen, but it made Bastian’s blood boil and his sickly stomach drop.

Mitsuko didn’t deserve this kind of negative attention. She deserved to wear her pretty shoes and to eat her chicken nuggets in peace.

Oh, god, those damn chicken nuggets. Even though Bastian hadn’t put one in his mouth, the memory of the thought of the taste and texture rolled his stomach over yet again. He shut his eyes and pressed his lips together in a pitiful show of defiance, even as his body instinctively leaned to the side. The surface of the wall tugged on the fibres of his shirt and felt abrasive against his shoulder.

“Oh –” Mitsuko exclaimed softly, and suddenly a gentle yet sturdy hand was propping him up by the waist, so that he didn’t slide down the length of the wall and end up falling hip-first into his own sick. “Kawai so, Bastian. Are you okay?”

He responded with a thick mouthful of bile, noisily ejected. Mitsuko was out of range this time, but even if she hadn’t been, he wasn’t confident that he could have avoided her shoes.

“A taxi is coming,” Mitsuko said, with a tone so reassuring that Bastian wanted to wrap it around himself.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, the weight of his own saliva slurring his speech.

“We’ll take a taxi to your apartment now,” Mitsuko said. “If you are sick tomorrow, we’ll take a taxi to a clinic.”

A clinic? Through the hellish fever and nausea, Bastian almost chuckled. In his family, a visit to the doctor – or, God forbid, the hospital – was reserved for when someone was literally in danger of dying, not for chills and some tummy issues.

He knew Mitsuko was bring serious, though, because a few months ago, she had mentioned that her sister Yumi had visited a doctor when she’d had flu symptoms for more than two days.

What a different world he lived in now.

“Ah... I think this is ours.” Mitsuko was peering up the street, straining to see around the traffic that had built up at the nearest pedestrian crossing. The hand supporting Bastian’s waist smoothed a little reassuring circle through his shirt. “Ja. Yatte mi you. Are you ready?”

“Mm,” Bastian grumbled miserably. He was still processing the fact that she was even still here, let along that she was trying to help him.

Mitsuko wrapped her arms further around Bastian’s waist, tugging him towards her. Lips trembling and legs like jelly, Bastian turned his gaze towards her in disbelief. Was she... trying to make him lean on her? On her, whose head barely crested his shoulders in platform shoes?

“M-Mitsuko, I’m..” Bastian swallowed, trying not to focus on the churning in his stomach or the fact that she was holding him so tightly even now that he three times sweatier than before. “Too heavy for you.”

“I’m strong, Bastian. Believe me.”

In the moment, he found that he did believe her. Not that he had much of a choice. It was her or the wall, and he didn’t quite fancy camping outside the McDonalds’ all night.

He wasn’t sure if he blacked out, or if the fever warped his perception for a little while, but everything that happened between the sidewalk and the front door of his apartment was a nonsensical chain of confusion.

He slumped across the back seats and Mitsuko pulled his head to her shoulder; he was almost certain that was real. He hoped it was, anyway. She rubbed his shoulder – probably oblivious to how her touch set his skin ablaze – and whispered reassuringly as he struggled not to vomit on the floor of the car. He was fairly sure that all happened, too.

But Mitsuko had... Well, she’d said she was strong, but as far as Bastian could tell, she practically carried him all the way from the taxi, up the stairs, to his apartment. She didn’t scoop him up and hold him bridal-style or anything, but Bastian had the faint sense that, while he was leaning on her, she took about 90% of his weight the entire time. Impossible, of course, and therefore almost certainly a fabrication of his overheating brain.

“Should’ve tidied,” he heard himself mutter as they walked into his one-room apartment.

Mitsuko blew a little raspberry as she led Bastian, hobbling, to his unmade futon. “It’s nicer than Kaz’s place.”

He shivered as he lay, getting listlessly lost in the depressing thought that she put him in the same category as her younger brother.

But then he felt her gently unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed thickly and tried to remain as still as he could, seated at the edge of his futon while she crouched in front of him. She had seen his bare chest and stomach before, at the beach, but his head felt like it was boiling from the inside as he became more and more exposed.

Mitsuko then slipped her hands inside his open shirt, brushing the fabric back towards his shoulders, attempting to get it off of him.

And then she jolted back from him, and let out a deep, animalistic growl.

A growl? Surely that wasn’t right. Bastian’s brain must have been muddling things up again. Still, he frowned up at her, reckoning he definitely looked as pathetic as he felt.

“A-are you okay?” he croaked.

“Yes...” Mitsuko stared blankly into the air, squeezing the fingers of her own hand as though they hurt. “Sorry.”

She didn’t make another attempt to remove his shirt, or mention it again; something must have distracted her. Bastian was probably reading too much into it, thanks to the fact that his thoughts felt like scrambled eggs. In the end, he shrugged the shirt off by himself and dropped it on the floor.

He didn’t remove the thick, silver chain that bore his grandfather’s crucifix. He rarely did, unless he was shirtless outdoors, where it might leave an odd tan line.

“Okay. Lie down,” Mistuko said.

Bastian did. His pillow case was crisp against his cheek and smelled faintly of plastic; he still hadn’t washed his bedding since buying it. He was suddenly a little self-conscious about how flimsy his life in Tokyo must have looked. He had been so exhausted after work every night that he hadn’t even unpacked all of his boxes yet.

Anyone might have thought that he was ready to leave the country at a moment’s notice.

And the last person he wanted to think that was here, nearly over his futon.

“Kawai sou,” Mitsuko whispered. She brushed a hand over Bastian’s hair, and he honestly thought he might float away to Heaven. Her hand was... shaking a little, but maybe she was just stressed out by how sick he was. “Did you feel sick at work today?”

Bastian sighed. “A little.”

Mitsuko shook her head. “A little?”

“A... A lot.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “You work too hard, Bastian. You have so many new things in your life. It’s too much.”

Bastian felt his lower lip start to quiver.

“You have to be... kind to yourself,” Mitsuko whispered, with a wisdom and a sobriety that didn’t exactly match her personality. And yet, it seemed as familiar to him as her bouncy pigtails, her teasing smile.

He reached up to take her hand in his, hoping she could see past the clamminess and appreciate his appreciation of her. She let out a low sound – it could almost have been described as a wince, but again, Bastian could have sworn it'd been a growl – and pulled her hand free, but immediately gave Bastian her other one.

Odd. But before he could begin to question it, his ears were being treated to her soft voice again.

“You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sick. Kazuhito is going to bring his extra futon,” she said. “So I can sleep here and be here when you wake up.”

Bastian swallowed over the pain in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was spending the night with Mitsuko for the first time ever, and he was about ready to black out already. Not to mention he was probably going to sweat himself silly and spew his guts at least once during the night.

“Th-thanks, cool girl.”

“You’re welcome, crazy boy.”

#StW Bastian #StW Mitsuko #sickfic #emeto #emeto sickfic #emetophilia #stomach ache fic #fever fic #hurt comfort #hurt and comfort #anon #mushroom anon #🍄 anon

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