Bab 23: Fever: House of Horrors Part 2
The Next Day - Thursday
The clock perched on the surface of Miyuki's desk strikes seven, thirty-odd minutes since he was abruptly awakened by the cacophony of Furuya's coughing. He paid it no mind initially, for he thought it to be a trivial disturbance and that peace would once again consume his room, but that proved to be false.
Furuya's periodic and petite coughs turned consecutive and harsh, their volume forcing Miyuki to retract his previous thought and open his eyes.
Through the blotchy spots of his blurred vision due to the lulling hold sleep still had on him and the fact that he was blind as a bat without his glasses, he can vaguely see Furuya's upper body erratically falling and rising beneath the covers.
As if Miyuki has suddenly lost control of his limbs and sleep reluctantly decided to loosen its grasp, he springs to his feet and peels back the covers.
Furuya's face is florid and damp with sweat, small beads trickling between the creases of his eyes that were half-open and heavy as lead, denoted by his abnormally slow blinks. His mouth is agape and his lips visibly vibrate as each shrill cough escapes them, followed by a distressed moan.
Miyuki is alarmed by this sight and extends his arm to feel Furuya's forehead and immediately recoils.
Furuya is burning.
Seconds later, Miyuki is back with a bowl of cold water, a towel, and he's brought the trash can to the foot of his bed as a safety measure.
After turning on the room light, he dunks the towel into the water and waits for it to soak before wringing it and placing it on Furuya's forehead. The latter shudders at the unexpected coldness.
"You idiot," Miyuki says as he stands and rummages through his closet for a thermometer, "how did you catch a fever?"
Furuya groans. He hears Miyuki's voice, but the words are jumbled up in an incoherent mess that he can't decipher until the catcher repeats himself.
"I don't…think this is a fever," the pitcher slurs. "Mor…morning sickness."
Miyuki finds the thermometer and returns to Furuya's side. He sticks it inside his mouth and removes it once it beeps. He reads the temperature.
115 degrees.
"Really?" Miyuki questions. "Who am I to doubt the person who's pregnant, but with a temperature this high, it must be something else. You're on fire."
Furuya's eyes shut for a while before they open again, and when they do, he sees Miyuki changing out of his sleepwear and into a jumpsuit. The motions are quick and make his head spin.
"Where…are you going?" he asks, but not without a coughing fit that echoes throughout his chest.
"Obviously outside," Miyuki responds. He pockets his wallet and keys. "I checked the bathroom cabinets and we've run out of fever medicine, so I'm running to the store. Don't move, okay? If you collapse and die, my liability meter will be soaring through the roof and I don't feel like dealing with that. I'll be right back. Don't move."
The door opens and closes.
Furuya feeds the silence with shrill coughs that eat away at his throat, mainly because he has already coughed up every bit of phlegm and is left with uncomfortable puffs of hot air. In fact, they are so uncomfortable that his body is screaming for water, so against Miyuki's warning, he summons all his strength into his lower body, swings his feet over the bed, and stands.
For some, this minor action would have no effect on them, but for Furuya, it sends his head into a maelstrom of dizziness so potent that he blindly waves about to stabilize himself on Miyuki's desk. His breathing accelerates and his entire being is telling him to sit down and wait until Miyuki returns, but he's stubborn and has to proceed.
Besides, he has this whole "I'm an independent child-bearer" facade to maintain.
Furuya gives his head a minute to reorientate itself before exiting the room and entering the kitchen. He sees double, tricking his brain into thinking that the floor is dipping underneath him, but he powers through the hallucination and reaches the fridge.
He grips the stainless steel handle—
'Wait, that's not steel.'
Furuya blinks twice as fast as he can with his weighty eyelids. His vision clears and he jumps as he registers Kazuhiko's presence.
Kazuhiko is standing closer than he realizes. His cap is drawn tighter than usual, half of his face shadowed by the bill. His expressionless face slowly curls into a smile, or at least that's what Furuya thinks as the older male removes his hand from his and opens the fridge.
The contact sends Furuya's hairs standing.
"My," Kazuhiko says. He lifts his head and indeed there's a smile, but it's void of its textbook usage to welcome and comfort others.
It's to intimidate.
"You look sickly, Furuya-kun. What happened? You were fine the other day. Wait, you would probably prefer if I don't ask. You're a teenager; you don't want me meddling in your business. Never mind me. What brings you to the kitchen?"
Furuya stumbles over his words as he feels another coughing fit brewing in the base of his throat.
It's one he can't win.
He excuses himself and turns his head away from Kazuhiko so he can release it.
Kazuhiko grabs a gallon of water from the fridge and a cup from the cupboard.
"How rude of me to ask given your apparent condition," he says. "Water is what you would like, correct? That cough sounded terrible. Here."
Furuya, who had planned on accomplishing his mission alone, is caught off guard when Kazuhiko shoves the cup into his hand.
"I-It's fine," he says, but his voice carries out more like a harsh whisper. "I can…do it myself."
Kazuhiko shakes his head. "No, no, no, you barely came into the kitchen without tripping over your own feet. Although I shouldn't be meddling, as the adult that's currently responsible for your welfare, I should do this for you. Allow me."
Furuya tries to stop him again, but it's too late as the older male uncaps the gallon and starts pouring.
And keeps pouring.
And keeps pouring.
And doesn't cease pouring.
Furuya's perplexity increases as he notices that the cup is milliseconds from being full to the brim. He looks at Kazuhiko whose smile has now turned into a full-blown crazed expression.
The water reaches the top and overflows, spilling onto Furuya's hand then the floor. He doesn't stop and eggs it on by tilting the gallon downward.
"H-Hey," Furuya says, moving his feet back to avoid getting wetter than he already was, and for once that wasn't due to Miyuki. "That's more than enough, Miyuki-san. Miyuki-san…hey…can you…Kazuhiko-san!"
The older male snaps out of whatever trance he was in and looks at Furuya, then at the puddle he's created between them.
"My apologies! I wasn't paying attention. Are you wet? I believe I fell asleep there…old people antics; you'll understand when you're older."
The apology sounds as insincere as insincere goes, but Furuya remains silent as Kazuhiko retrieves a mop and wipes away the puddle. He turns around and leans the mop against the counter which gives Furuya just enough time to neck the glass of water down.
He isn't entirely sure why, but he has an intense hunch that if Kazuhiko were to have seen him drink it an even weirder event would have occurred.
Which was probably why Miyuki told him not to move in the first place.
'I shouldn't have been stubborn,' Furuya thinks in defeat.
He isn't well enough to deal with Miyuki's rage if he gets caught here, so he takes a deep breath before starting for the bedroom.
Kazuhiko latches onto him.
"Have a seat," he says, gesturing towards the dining table. "You don't have enough energy to walk. Have a seat."
"I'm…fine," Furuya whispers, trying to shake him off, "I can't be here."
"Have a seat, Furuya-kun. I want to talk to you. I saw you staring at the picture frame two nights ago when you first arrived. Remember? You were staring. I wasn't fond of what Kazuya told you. It wasn't rude to stare. You were in a new environment and it is expected to be curious. Have a seat. I won't keep you for long."
Furuya looks at the broken picture frame at the far end of the kitchen, resting on the coffee table, solely accompanied by a vase of wilted flowers.
Behind the scratched shards of dull glass is a yellowed, crinkly family photo. They're out on a sunny day at the beach, covered in water, sand, and sloppy sunscreen.
A smiling woman is squatting behind a young Miyuki, her arms draped around his shoulders and crossed at the wrists, her loving embrace making a portion of Miyuki's face disappear into her voluptuous chest. Her seemingly soft skin is slightly tanned, its color enhanced by the vibrant yellow bikini she's sporting.
Her lengthy mixture of auburn and copper hair is whipping wildly in the wind, giving the photo a dramatic air that's only contrasted by the sunlight that encases her body in a warm, heavenly glow.
Her presence, though merely through a photo, looks and feels ethereal, and now Furuya fully understands where Miyuki gets his looks from.
Kazuhiko is neither in the foreground nor background of the photo so Furuya safely assumes that he was the one who took the photo.
"There's not much to the story," Kazuhiko begins as he fiddles with the embroidered name tag on his navy jumpsuit. "My wife was a beautiful woman. To this day, I don't know how I managed to marry a fine woman like her. Absolutely stunning. But, as with almost all marriages, partners tend to drift apart. Apart.
"We drifted apart. We had conflicting opinions on life after she gave birth to it. She loved it. We loved it. She loved it, but not for long. She decided she wasn't suited for motherhood and left. As I said earlier, there's not much to the story. That is it."
"Okay," is all Furuya can say.
Not that he's at a loss for words, which would have been the case if he was strictly focusing on the peculiar and robotic fashion in which the older male recounted his self-proclaimed tragic love life, but he was more drawn to the fact that he couldn't shake off the feeling of doubt.
Kazuhiko wasn't telling the truth, or the whole truth for that matter.
Furuya knew there was more to the tale of the estranged wife and mother and it was up to her scarred son to finish the story, but that was for another time.
Now, he needs to leave the kitchen before Miyuki returns.
"Sorry, was I keeping you?" asks Kazuhiko.
He's noticed that Furuya's moved a few inches away, his left hand pressing against the counter. It was acting as his sole source of stability. "If you want to lay down, that's fine. It's fine. Fine. No need to keep an old man company longer than you feel the need to. I have to get back to work, anyway—"
Furuya doesn't delay in making a beeline for Miyuki's bedroom—well, as bee-like as his sluggish movements and persistent double vision will allow him.
He doesn't want to be near Kazuhiko a second longer, not without Miyuki to protect him from the glint of a butcher knife he's somehow managed to catch a glimpse of in his peripheral.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone