Atsushi’s just showered when a quiet knock comes at his door, his sensitive hearing picking it up even over the noise of the rain outside.

He’s still fumbling to do up his pyjama shirt’s buttons with one hand as he opens the door, but stops as the light from his apartment falls on his visitor.

“Ryu—A-Akutagawa?”

Akutagawa is standing on his doorstep, wet hair sticking to his forehead and resembling a drowned cat so closely that atsushi has to hold back a fond snicker. His coat is damp, too, and the longer Atsushi looks at him the more he realises how much paler than usual Akutagawa looks.

“Atsushi—,” Akutagawa starts, and his voice is little over a thin rasp. “I wanted to… to see you—”

He breaks off to cough into his hand, and Atsushi notices he sways a little on his feet, pitching forward slightly with the force of it.

Before it can turn into a full-blown fall, Atsushi steps forward to steady him. At the same time, Rashomon reaches for the walls on either side, as if on reflex, and Atsushi sees the dark tendrils waver and then fade to nothing as he gently catches Akutagawa by the arms.

Akutagawa isn’t used to being cared for by anyone but himself. It shows on his face, in his weary dark eyes and in the way his brow creases in confusion as he registers Atsushi’s hold. the reaction is uncharacteristically delayed, and the quiet breaths Akutagawa gives have a rough drag to them.

One of his sick spells, then. Atsushi doubts Akutagawa has ever been truly well in his life, with how frequently bouts of illness like this seem to hit him. Even on his good days, Atsushi itches to fill his pockets with menthols for that cough of his.

Atsushi’s hands are careful on Akutagawa’s arms, and when he moves them it’s only to trace his fingers up to Akutagawa’s chin, and brush the long pieces of hair back from his face.

His touch lingers on Akutagawa’s jaw as he asks, “Tea?”

Akutagawa nods and murmurs, “Please.”