Chapter 4: Heatwave

Tokyo was melting.

The late-summer heatwave came down like punishment from the gods, blanketing the city in a haze of sweat, dizziness, and pure exhaustion. Even the crows had stopped cawing. Students dragged themselves across campus like sunburnt zombies.

Nobita was one of them.

He hadn’t eaten properly. He hadn’t slept. He definitely hadn’t hydrated.

So naturally, when he stumbled out of the lecture hall and collapsed dramatically across a vending machine, nobody was surprised.

Except maybe Dekisugi, who’d only just turned the corner and caught the tail end of Nobita's faceplant.

“Nobi-kun?”

“M’fine,” Nobita slurred, eyes half-lidded.

Dekisugi took one look at him—sweat-dampened bangs, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes—and did something completely uncharacteristic.

He swore.

---

Ten minutes later, Nobita was sprawled across his dorm bed, shirt half unbuttoned, fan pointed directly at his face.

“Why are you like this,” Dekisugi muttered, pressing a cool towel to his forehead.

“Like what?” Nobita mumbled, voice hoarse.

“Suicidally bad at self-care.”

“You care?”

Dekisugi didn’t answer.

But he did smooth Nobita’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, slowly and carefully.

“You have a mild fever,” he said, almost scolding. “And your pulse is too fast. Did you even drink water today?”

Nobita groaned. “Water’s for rich people. I had melon soda and instant noodles.”

Dekisugi stared at him like he was debating calling emergency services.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Nobita whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m worth worrying about.”

Dekisugi’s hand froze on his forehead.

Then slowly, he withdrew it. “You are.”

---

For a while, the room was quiet except for the hum of the fan and the slow drip of water from the towel into the bowl.

Dekisugi moved around the room with a kind of tense grace, tidying up—folding discarded shirts, moving cluttered books, silently judging the three empty cup ramen containers on the floor.

He didn’t ask if he could stay.

Nobita didn’t ask him to leave.

---

“Ugh, I feel disgusting,” Nobita mumbled later, squinting at the ceiling.

Dekisugi looked up from the water bottle he was holding. “You are disgusting. But now you’re also hydrated.”

“Don’t roast me while I’m dying.”

“Death by humidity is a choice.”

Nobita chuckled weakly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You’re surprisingly funny when I’m delusional.”

“I’m always funny,” Dekisugi said dryly, opening a mini bottle of sports drink. “You’re just finally noticing.”

“…Have you always taken care of people like this?”

“Only you,” Dekisugi said, too quickly.

They both stilled.

Nobita’s eyes opened.

Dekisugi cleared his throat. “I mean. You’re uniquely incapable of functioning. So.”

“Right.”

---

An hour later, Nobita had cooled down enough to sit upright.

He looked at Dekisugi, who was now lounging beside his desk, scrolling something on his phone with casual elegance. Hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, one button undone—he looked like he’d stepped out of a drama about sexy med students.

“Hey,” Nobita said suddenly. “Why are you really doing this?”

Dekisugi didn’t look up. “Doing what?”

“This. Bringing me drinks. Sitting in my overheated room like some awkward housewife.”

“That’s homophobic,” Dekisugi said mildly.

Nobita choked on his own spit. “I—?!”

“I’m here because you scared me earlier,” Dekisugi said, putting the phone down. “And because you won’t ask for help unless you’re collapsing in front of a vending machine.”

Nobita stared at him.

“And maybe,” Dekisugi added, voice quieter now, “because I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

Nobita’s heart gave a traitorous little thump.

He looked away quickly, heat blooming in his chest—and not just from the fever.

---

Meanwhile, across campus…

Suneo Honekawa was also sweating, though not from any emotional turmoil—yet.

He and Gian had been paired for a campus committee event. Something about planning the fall festival. Something about “creative collaboration.”

It was going as well as expected.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Suneo snapped, arms crossed, “your taste in music is objectively garbage.”

Gian leaned back against the student center door, arms folded like a bouncer. “At least I don’t cry over idol group breakups.”

Suneo gasped. “That was one time—!”

“Three times,” Gian corrected smugly.

Their glares locked. Sparks flew.

Then Gian grinned. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Suneo froze.

Then turned very pink.

“…Shut up.”

Gian chuckled. “Make me.”

They stood there for a second too long. Silence stretching. Eyes lingering.

Then Gian shoved the folder at him. “You’re in charge of decorations.”

“Fine,” Suneo sniffed, flipping his hair. “You can lift the heavy stuff.”

As they walked off in opposite directions, neither noticed the way they both turned to look back.

---

Back in Nobita’s dorm…

“I think I’m better now,” Nobita said, trying to sit up straighter.

Dekisugi narrowed his eyes. “You still look like a boiled dumpling.”

“Thanks. That’s very romantic.”

Dekisugi didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, he stood, walked over, and—without a word—placed his hand lightly over Nobita’s forehead.

His fingers lingered.

Nobita’s breath caught.

“You’re cooler,” Dekisugi murmured.

“Thanks to Doctor Prettyboy,” Nobita whispered, unsure why his voice had gone so soft.

Dekisugi’s lips twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Embarrassed?”

Dekisugi leaned in slightly, close enough for Nobita to see the curve of his mouth, the flutter of his lashes.

“Because if you keep calling me that,” he said calmly, “I might start thinking you like me.”

Nobita didn’t answer right away.

He couldn’t.

His heart was thundering. His body, traitorous. His face, probably ten shades redder than necessary.

Dekisugi pulled back, gaze unreadable. “Thought so.”

But he didn’t look smug.

He looked… disappointed.

---

Later that evening, as the sun finally dipped behind the skyline, casting the room in warm gold, Nobita broke the silence.

“Why don’t you ever date anyone?”

Dekisugi looked up from the book he was pretending to read. “Why don’t you?”

Nobita shrugged. “Too busy being miserable.”

Dekisugi smiled faintly. “Same.”

“…You could have anyone.”

“Maybe I don’t want ‘anyone.’”

“Then who do you want?” Nobita asked, almost breathless.

Dekisugi looked at him for a long moment.

Then, with a soft voice: “Someone who sees me. Not the grades. Not the reputation. Just… me.”

Nobita didn’t say anything.

But he felt it.

In the ache between them.

In the question he wasn’t brave enough to ask.

---

When Dekisugi finally left, long after dark, Nobita stood at his door and watched him disappear down the hallway.

His fever had broken.

But his heart?

Still burning.

---

To be continued...

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