Work Text:
Sick Day Shenanigans
Phayu had a mild cold. Mild. He was barely sniffling.
Rain, however, had already gone full drama mode.
“You’re DYING,” he announced, bursting into Phayu’s room with a thermometer, a cup of tea, and what looked like a glittery notebook labeled ‘Patient Log.’
Phayu groaned from under his blanket. “Rain, it’s just a cold.” “No,” Rain said gravely, “it’s a tragic tale of a strong, handsome man struck down in his prime. A Greek tragedy, if you will.” Phayu stared. “Did you just monologue about my sinus infection?” Rain ignored him and tucked the blanket tighter around him. “Don’t speak. Save your strength. Blink twice if you’re alive.”
Phayu blinked once. Rain gasped. “No!” He pulled out a bottle of cough syrup like it was holy water. “Time for the sacred elixir.” Phayu took one look and growled, “I am not drinking that.” Rain sat on his lap—blanket, glittery notebook and all—and pouted. “You always carry me. Let me carry you for once!”
“You’re 110 pounds of chaos and lip gloss. You can't carry anything.” Rain narrowed his eyes. “Drink. The. Syrup.” “No.”
Rain leaned closer. “I will sing Taylor Swift songs until you do.” Phayu went still. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Rain inhaled. “You—” Phayu grabbed the bottle. “FINE!” Rain smiled sweetly. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” Phayu gagged. “You’re evil.” Rain flopped next to him and tucked himself under the blanket. “And now… I’m your emotional support plushie.”
Phayu sighed but didn’t push him away. “You’re ridiculous.”
Rain leaned against him, warm and soft and grinning. “And you love it.” “…Yeah,” Phayu mumbled, voice low. “I do.”
Rain blinked up at him. Then immediately wrote in the Patient Log: Diagnosis: In love. Prognosis: terminal.
Phayu chucked the tissue box at his head.
🎀
The Great Pillow War
It all started because Rain stole Phayu’s last slice of pizza.
Again. “I specifically said—don’t touch it, Rain.” Rain, halfway through chewing it, blinked innocently. “You did?”
Phayu stared at him like he was weighing whether it was worth wrestling his tiny best friend on the spot. Rain swallowed dramatically. “Well, it’s gone now. So…”
Phayu lunged. Rain shrieked, leapt over the couch, and bolted down the hallway. “You said sharing is caring!” Rain yelled behind him. “I also said I was hungry!” “You always say that, muscles!” Rain dove into the guest room—his room, really—slammed the door, and locked it. Phayu hit the door a second later.
“Rain.”
“Go away.”
“You know I can pick this lock.”
“I’ll scream.”
Phayu paused. “…Fine.”
Silence.
Rain relaxed. Until the window slid open behind him.
“PHAYU!” Phayu climbed in like some action movie hero—except instead of saving anyone, he grabbed a pillow and chucked it directly at Rain’s face. “War,” Phayu declared.
Rain grabbed a pillow back. “You’re on, giant.” Chaos ensued.
Pillows flew. Lamps teetered. Rain jumped on the bed for height advantage, and Phayu literally lifted him off it with one arm and spun him around. Rain screamed with laughter. “Unfair! You can’t use your gym strength!”
“You started it!”
“I ate a slice of pizza!”
“You committed a crime!”
By the end of it, they were breathless, tangled in a mess of blankets and feathers, Rain flat on top of Phayu, hair a mess, both of them red-faced and grinning like idiots.
Phayu looked up at him, still catching his breath. “You’re impossible.” Rain tapped his nose. “And you love it.”
Phayu groaned, tossing an arm over his eyes. “God help me, I really do.”
🎀
Kitchen Catastrophe
Phayu should’ve known it was doomed from the moment Rain said, “Let’s cook together!” Rain had never cooked a real meal in his life. But there he was anyway—standing in Phayu’s kitchen, wearing an apron three sizes too big, wielding a spatula like a sword.
“I looked up a recipe on YouTube,” Rain announced proudly.
Phayu paused in the doorway.
“Rain... that’s a video for flambéing steak.”
“Yeah! I thought it sounded fancy.”
“You can’t even pronounce flambé.”
“I can!” Rain insisted. “It’s ‘flam-buh.’”
“…That’s not even close.”
Rain ignored him and started pouring oil into a pan. A lot of oil. Phayu yanked the bottle away. “You’re not frying the entire cow.”
“Don’t stifle my creativity!”
The smoke detector went off thirty seconds later. Phayu had to drag the pan off the heat while Rain frantically waved a dish towel under the alarm. “We’re losing steam, chef!” Rain shouted dramatically.
“We’re losing the apartment!” Phayu shouted back. Once the chaos settled (and the smoke cleared), Rain slumped against the counter, arms folded, pouting.
“I just wanted to be cute and helpful.”
“You are cute,” Phayu muttered, blowing hair from his face. “Just not helpful.”
Rain perked up a little. “You think I’m cute?”
“I think you’re dangerous with a spatula.”
“…Still counts.” Phayu sighed and nudged him toward the table. “You sit. I’ll cook.” Rain dropped into the chair with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But I’m in charge of moral support.”
“Oh boy.”
“You got this, Daddy!”
Phayu choked. “Rain.”
Rain smirked. “Too much?”
Phayu turned away quickly, ears red. “Stir the sauce and stop talking.”