A Dash of Chili Powder

53

"I swear to kami, if my dog is dead, YOU are dead, Baka neko!" Yuki quelled irritably, completely ignoring Kakashi's informative negating of Vell's statement. She frowned and stood up, tapping her foot impatiently.

Amaya squealed quietly from the amount of movement, latching onto the tall boy that nestled her into the couch. "Rage-kun..." she mumbled, holding on as tightly as her weakened muscles would let her. He was warm and he was helpful and she was grateful for it. She used his leg as a pillow and rolled over to face the back of the couch, curling up in the mass of blankets on top of her.

"Thank you," she squeaked raspily.

Gracie

Vell just stared at Yuki for a long moment, narrowing his onyx eye at her. As if this were some kind of showdown. Finally, without losing eye contact with her, he rolled over and swung his legs off the couch. "Yes. Lots of death. Got it."

Kakashi came in, then, carrying three boxes of bento. He noticed the lightening between them and a sweat drop slid down his temple. "Now, really, do you two have to fight about every little thing?"

"Well I don't see why I had to move. First she took my bed, then she takes my couch - I'll have to sleep on the floor like a dog, and even the DOG doesn't sleep on the floor," Vell grumbled, folding his arms as he laid curled up on his side.

"Don't be so melodramatic." Kakashi set the boxes on the coffee table and sat between the bickering children. "Teenaged girls create drama out of nothing, not teenaged boys."

"So lecture her," Vell grumbled, snagging his designated box and retrieving a tuna hand roll from it.

As Amaya whispered her thanks and settled on his leg, Rage felt his ears burn and he tensed. She was sick, and she needed body heat to warm herself up. He knew that. It was just...for some reason Rage took the gesture as intimate. Which it wasn't. He frowned. Definitely not.

Scythe blinked at the little bundle beside his young friend. "You try giving her medicine or something?" he asked.

Rage nodded wearily. Whatever was ailing Amaya, it wasn't any illness that could be cured with syrup or a pill. And administering the medicine had been difficult, too - it wasn't exactly the sweetest or tastiest thing, medicine. Poor Amaya always struggled against its bitter taste. But she always ended up taking it, as long as it was Rage's gentle hands offering it.

And still it'd been in vain. Rage wondered if she was ever to recover.

"She'll be fine," Scythe said, startling Rage with his adeptness at reading his expression. "Especially with you taking care of her. A few more days and she'll be up to her old...frowny self," he chuckled sheepishly.

Rage sighed and looked down at Amaya again. He brushed a few strands of hair from her eyelids. And a foreign beat caused his heart to pound unstably.

[*crashes into death-like sleep*]