#ngbr

The order, and yes there’s an order, that goes with you on the right, Nagi in the middle, and Barou to his left. Why is that? Because Nagi loves being smushed from all sides, it helps him fall asleep faster.

Today, however, he doesn’t get his usual afternoon naps. At least, in the way he wants it to be.

On this faithful Saturday afternoon, Nagi wakes up to your sudden coughing fits and a note on the fridge from Barou stating he’ll be visiting his family for the day. And this wouldn’t really be a problem for Nagi if it weren’t for the fact that, one: he has no clue what to make to sooth your cold, because he’s pretty sure you’re running a nasty fever, and two: if he can barely take care of Choki, what makes him think that he can take care of another person?

Nagi is debating with himself internally when he’s crouched by your bedside, grasping your sweaty palm tightly into his, while checking your temperature with his forehead because he’s seen Barou doing it dozens of times before. He’s fighting the urge to call him and Nagi’s not sure if he wants to blame the nagging voice in his head telling him — hey, if Barou comes back and sees that you’re better and healthy looking, then Nagi will earn himself brownie points in this… situationship? Yeah, whatever label you guys have, that’s a discussion for another time, though. 

So, Nagi says fuck it, and decides at the end to not text Barou. 

“Sei,” you call out, weakly, followed by a string of rapid coughs.

He squeezes your hand in return, kissing the crown of your head. “Want me to make you something?”

“Do we still have the leftover soup from yesterday?”

“Um,” and this is where Nagi fucks up without even trying because, of course, he just so happened to finish the rest earlier this morning while you were showering. His eyes widen a little and you absolutely notice. 

It’s totally not his fault that Barou’s cooking is so damn good, though. Anyone would be lucky enough to eat his dishes everyday.

Thankfully, you laugh it off. “Okay, forget I even asked.”

The thought of contacting Barou increases slightly.

“ ‘m sorry…” and Nagi feels embarrassed, a bit frustrated at himself. Chewing at his lips, Nagi pulls out his phone and begins to look up ‘at-home remedies for colds’ into the search bar, making sure to tilt the screen towards you because he’s not exactly sure which article to choose from. “I can try to make whatever you think might help.”

You end up settling with the third listed website since the first two contained one too many steps for both of your likings. After scrolling past the author’s in-depth childhood backstory on why this dish saved their life, Nagi reviews the ingredients and directions. It’s a chicken noodle soup recipe and the instructions look simple enough that he’s sure even a toddler couldn’t mess it up. 

He’s totally got this under control.

“Give me thirty minutes?”

And, in exactly thirty minutes, he hears the bedroom door creek open, the sounds of your bare feet tapping relentlessly against the wooden flooring as you make your way closer.

You smile, nose congested as you waddle into the kitchen and hop onto the bar stool, watching Nagi with attentive, but tired eyes. “You alright over there?”

Nagi makes a pained little sound and scrunches his face when he gives the final batch a taste test. It’s then, he realizes, that he added way too much white pepper into the broth. The kitchen, however, does smell nice, so it kinda gives him the illusion that he’s doing something right. But, as the light brown broth, speckled in all things black and white, stares blankly back at him, Nagi wonders if feeding you this would cause you more harm than good.

“You want ginger ale instead?” Nagi offers, though he’s already sliding you a cold can from the fridge. He’s heard from some twitch streamers that ginger ale is actually kinda helpful against common colds. 

“Are you gatekeeping that chicken soup, Sei?” A pause and then he hears you groan. “You didn’t read the recipe beforehand?”

“Skimmed it,” Nagi confesses with a sigh. “It didn’t look that hard.”

In the hindsight of things, does Nagi look like the type of person who can cook? His diet, on days where he doesn’t stay over at your place, consists of frozen pizza, burritos, and a whole lot of cereal. Nagi knows how to use the air fryer, which is probably the most expensive kitchen appliance he has. He also knows how to make decent cup noodles and usually tops it off with a handful of frozen pre-cut scallions from his freezer. Other than that? Nagi’s pretty much hopeless.

Maybe asking Barou for some private cooking lessons later might not be such a horrible idea.

Besides him, your stomach keeps growling. Every time it happens, you sniffle as loudly as you can to muffle the sound of it, but Nagi can still clearly hear it and he feels kinda awful.

“I can order us food,” which he should’ve done in the first place.

You frown, shaking your head. “What? You don’t have to do that. I’ll still eat whatever you made, can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not good—”

“I’d rather eat now than wait forty minutes for delivery,” you counter with another stomach growl, and that makes Nagi slumps his shoulders and he prepares you a small bowl of whatever concoction he created. The poor chickens might’ve died for nothing.

And, approximately five seconds later, from the time you took a spoonful to the time that you swallowed his homemade meal, you start sputtering out of control, almost spitting out the broth.

Okay, this isn’t his fault since he did technically warned you prior. 

“It’s not that bad,” you’re still smiling through the sniffles, voice strained and even scratchier sounding, and it’s a bit unsettling. “But, maybe, we can just wait ‘till Shoei gets back for dinner?”

Nagi stifles back a groan and shrinks into his oversized hoodie. He’d known you would say something similar in that regard. And, five minutes later, after you two discovered that Nagi had accidentally mistaken salt for sugar, you both agreed to give Barou a call.

It doesn’t quite go so well.

“Hey, Shoei,” your drawl is casual, even though your voice is on the verge of giving out and you’re definitely not kicking Nagi’s foot underneath the kitchen table. “Just wondering, what time are you coming back?” A pause. “I sound like what? It’s just my sleepy voice, as usual.” Another pause and you start to laugh a bit nervously. “Okay, so I might've caught a cold from staying up late but these exams aren’t gonna pass themselves.” Another pause and Nagi thinks he can hear Barou’s voice rising on the line. “Sei’s helping me! He, uh, made something edible…” and you shoot him a wryly smile before bringing your phone to his ear.

“Is the apartment burnt down?”

Nagi huffs and rolls his eyes, quickly taking notice of the sounds of car keys and ignition turning on. “Hello to you, too.”

After a while, the conversation strays from your well being to whatever Nagi was cooking up earlier.

“You’re going to end up burning the place down if you keep the heat that fucking high.”

“Then they shouldn’t make settings that high to begin with.”

“How did you mess salt and sugar up?”

“Your fault for not labeling everything, King.”

After some more grumbling, and some coaxing from your end, Barou decides to end the call before experiencing both road rage and Nagi rage at the same time. Nagi is flaring his nose and puffing out his cheeks as he hands back your phone and you only offer him a weak hug but, because you are sick, Nagi considers it to be pretty strong. 

“You guys always go at each other’s throats,” you sigh, burying your face into his chest.

Nagi raises his hands and starts patting your head in a slow, gentle rhythm. “ ‘s not my fault, he starts it most of the time.”

And really, if it weren’t for the fact that Barou makes really good food, is a walking furnace, strong, reliable, and good looking — then maybe Nagi wouldn’t be as pissed. But, because Barou is all of the above and more, Nagi is sulking. 

“You know he also cares about you, too, right?” You point out happily enough, peering up through your lashes.

He shrugs in response, and tries to sound nonchalant, but he feels his heart fluttering and doing the damn thing where it’s trying to explode out of his chest at the mere thought of Barou liking him back and, of course, you sharing the same sentiment. 

Despite rooming with the other male during their undergrad years, Nagi wasn’t able to get super close to him until after Barou started dating you. And, by super close, Nagi means proximity and maybe some layers of hidden feelings. You’ve mentioned in passing that getting emotionally close to Barou takes a lot of effort, though it’s less of a struggle than, say, befriending another emotionally constipated associate of his. Hint: you were definitely not jabbing at Sae or Rin, or were you?

Nagi sighs. He doesn’t want to think about that, at least not now. He’s still not sure if he’ll ever really be able to live up to Barou’s standards, and at this moment, he doesn’t particularly want to, not while you're fiddling around with the chicken in the bowl.

“Guess so,” he agrees, a bit dully.

Needless to say, Nagi is very relieved when he finally spots Barou’s car pulling into the driveway. You immediately greet him at the door, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and place a chaste kiss to his cheeks despite him scolding you for spreading germs everywhere. Still, seeing you all teary eyed gets his knees weak every time and, ultimately, he couldn’t stay mad at you forever. 

“You’re fucking burning up.” Barou gruffs, placing his forehead against yours.

“Then let’s keep each other warm tonight!”

“We’re all gonna get sick if we do that, idiot.” But, nevertheless, he returns the kiss and settles you to the living room sofa while he strides to the kitchen, giving Nagi a quick up-down glance.

“Smells like white pepper,” Barou stares at Nagi’s pathetic creation.

“Recipe called for it,” Nagi mumbles back, and he doesn’t quite meet Barou’s eyes with that. 

Barou then continues on a mini tangent, but Nagi’s only half listening, because his attention is more fixated on what’s in Barou’s hands, a couple of hefty grocery bags. Apparently, on his way back, Barou stopped by the grocery store to stock up on cold medicine and managed to fight off three grandmas in the produce section. They don’t call him King Barou for nothing.

Then, Nagi realizes, quite abruptly, that he’s leaning into Barou, that they’re pressed quite close when he’s demonstrating how to easily peel off the skin of a potato. Nagi shuffles a little in place, adjusting his weight so it’s not quite so obvious and invading Barou’s personal space.

“You’re good with curry, tonight?”

“Mhm,” Nagi hums back, quietly.

It only takes Barou under an hour to whip up the meal. You and Nagi both ended up watching the spectacle from the kitchen table, acting like a mini live audience when Barou starts narrating everything he’s doing. And, after Barou sets everyone’s plates down, Nagi wants to say something, an apology maybe, but instead, he picks up a spoonful of the curry and shoves it into his mouth. It’s no surprise that it’s delicious, way better than what he can ever possibly make. He knows this because you’re sighing in content, making oddly suggestive noises as you swallow each and every bite.

Nagi chews his lip, and Barou watches out of the corner of his eyes. “The food is good,” he decides to settle with that.

Nagi stays silent for the rest of dinner and takes over cleaning the dishes while you and Barou get ready for bed, because that’s the least he can do after today. Though, suddenly, the apartment is the absolute last place he wants to be. He wants to be back at his own place, curled under the blankets, with his door shut, and ignore the outside world while he plays video games.

Frankly, Nagi feels out of place right now.

“Hey,” Barou calls out from behind. He’s got his hair down, slightly damp from the shower, a towel loosely placed on his neck, and he’s giving Nagi a hard stare, but it’s not malicious. At least Nagi knows he can sleep peacefully tonight.

“Yeah?” and Nagi’s voice drops to little more than a whisper.

“Thanks for, uh, trying to look out for them.” Barou’s looking far off, focusing more on the bare wall instead of Nagi’s tight expression.  

“It’s nothing, really…” Nagi replies, quietly, but he has a feeling that there's a lot of weight behind those words.

Nagi flushes when Barou steps closer, his fingers carefully brushing over the front of his sweatshirt before plucking off a loose strand. It feels like a very domestic thing to do. Something that a couple would do. And he’s somehow, surprisingly, okay with it. Nagi’s never been good at putting that much effort into his appearance but, after the recent stays over, he feels like he can trust Barou with it. 

“Tomorrow, wake up early and I’ll show you a thing or two in the kitchen.” And, without Barou’s usual rough tone, it sounds genuine to Nagi’s ears. Before Nagi can make a decision, before he can potentially mess things up again, Barou continues. “It’ll cover simple stuff to, um, avoid things like today from happening.”

He’s grateful that Barou can somewhat read his mind. “I won't complain.” 

They don’t look at each other, but on Nagi’s shoulder lies a firm hand, and he can’t help but to tip his chin up. Barou’s grip is solid, anchoring, pulling him out of the depths of his mind and back to the present, and he’s here. There’s a moment of silent back and forth, where neither of them dared to move and kept stealing glances at another, and Barou looks, again, a little emotionally constipated. Nagi decides it’s kinda a bad look on him.

“Are you guys heading to bed?” Your voice snaps both of them out of the weird trance and Barou’s the first one to pull back. 

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Barou replies back, and gives Nagi’s sleeves a light tug towards the direction of the bedroom. 

And Nagi hopes that it’s not noticeable, the way that he’s trying to calm every muscle on his face, suppressing the warmth on his cheeks ever so slightly when both of them make their way into the room and slip underneath the sheets with you squished in between them. It’s warm, comforting, and somehow you look incredibly pleased with yourself.