Work Text:
Midoriya Izuku was a lot of things: Strong, dependable, unwaveringly optimistic, relentlessly determined. And why wouldn’t he be? He was the Number One hero, after all. And after he’d finally worked up the nerve to confess to his high school flame (slightly influenced by the sudden burst of bravery provided by alcohol, but who cares, he did it, okay?) he’d felt on top of the world. Who wouldn’t, with a partner as amazing as Todoroki Shouto?
With the hot-and-cold hero at his side, Midoriya Izuku was nigh unstoppable -- so why, why did he of all people wind up like this?
Izuku lay in bed, utterly exhausted from head to toe. He’s trembling, and weak, and the muscles in his limbs weep to move. He’s not injured, not in the traditional sense. Despite the fact that one week prior he’d been sent hurtling head-first through a skyscraper by a villain with an uncanny strength quirk, his injuries had been moderate at worst. When your body absorbed the recoil from performing feats with regularly withstood the physical equivalent of getting hit by a semi-truck, one tended to become damage-resistant. No, Izuku wasn’t put out of commission by the altercation.
It was more due to the fact that after he and Ground Zero had apprehended the villain, some reporter sneezed right. In his. Face. And in the middle of flu seasons, of all times.
And now he is stuck at home with the worst fever he’s had in recent memory.
Shouto had insisted that he call in sick when he woke up with a killer sore throat and clammy forehead (You know that new flu-strain is making its rounds right?), but Izuku argued that he was fine. Shouto won out in the end, though, when he’d made it all of two steps out the door before almost collapsing on the front porch.
Now he lay in bed with a wet cloth pressed to his head, uniform stripped from his sweaty body, blushing from either the proximity of Shouto’s calloused fingers from his mouth or the oppressive heat flushing through his body (Maybe both? Probably both). Shouto holds the thermometer so that it doesn’t tumble from his mouth like the first time they tried to take his temperature, and pulls it back to read the numbers when it beeps.
Izuku watches Shouto’s face go from passive to confused to concerned, and he finds the strength to speak:
“Shouto?”
“Hm? Ah.” Shouto blinks, and his expression turns soft. He runs his right hand gently through Izuku’s damp mop of hair before sliding his palm over the wet rag; he sends soothing cold through the cloth and Izuku sighs with temporary relief.
“You’ve got a fever, alright. One-hundred and two.”
“One-hundred and two??” he croaks, and tries to prop himself up on his elbows. Shouto presses more firmly on his forehead and he falls unceremoniously back down on the pillow. Dammit. Why do his muscles feel like a bowl of jell-o?
“No moving. You are definitely not going into work today. Probably not for the next few days.”
Izuku whines and from his spot on the bed, “Oh come on. The Symbol of Peace can’t call in sick--”
“The Symbol of Peace can’t even push against my hand to get out of bed.” Shouto cocks an eyebrow at Izuku, daring him to argue. Izuku does, pushing feebly against the hand in his head in an effort to rise from the bed -- and fails, miserably.
"Fine…fine." Izuku relents, going slack. The comforter molds comfortably around his form. They were some kind of super high thread count. Shouto bought them when he moved in three months ago. The half-and-half man arrived at the house one day with several shopping-bags worth of Monticello brand bedroom sets, something Izuku didn't quite grasp the expense of until he googled the name and nearly fell out of his seat when he saw the price.
Mmm, but expensive was cozy.
He shakes himself out of a doze and looks up at Shouto, who's punching something in on his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Calling my family doctor," he says, as it's the most normal thing in the world.
"Your--your family doctor?"
"My father preferred home-visits to going to the hospital. Dr. Suzuki has been looking after the Todorokis for years; she's very good at her job."
"Shouto, you don't need to. I don't need to see a doctor, really. It's just a fever," the words stumble from his mouth and he waves a hand feebly through the air.
Shouto's phone rings. His boyfriend shoots him a blasé look through the red-and-white bangs that hang over his eyes.
"A fever that put the Number One hero on his ass. You're seeing Dr. Suzuki, Izuko. You're not winning this argument. Ah, yes," his attention turns to the pleasant voice that eeks out through his phone's speaker, "Suzuki-San. It's been awhile," a pause:
"No, no, I'm doing fine. I'm actually calling to schedule an appointment for my partner, Midoriya Izuku. Yes, that Midoriya."
Izuku sees his partner's mouth quirk up in a small smile before closing his eyes. Shouto's voice is deep and mellow, like the base of a chello. He rides the rising and falling tone of Shouto's voice as he watches muted colors shift behind his eyelids; soon the words start to meld and become a distant babble.
Izuku is asleep before he realizes what's happening.
-
When he wakes up, there's a chilly hand pressed to his cheek. Izuku shifts to cup it in his own and leans further into the touch. Strange. It feels smaller than usual.
"...'Outo?" He groans, opening his eyes. Yellow eyes peer down at him through thick glasses, and he startles, pulling his hand back.
The eyes are housed in a kind, weathered face. The stranger smiles.
"Hello, Midoriya. My name is Suzuki Haname. I'm Todoroki's doctor." Her voice is gentle and soft, calming him instantly. A kind of warm sensation washes over him, though not uncomfortably so. Suddenly the bed underneath him is that much softer, and he has to shake his head to ward off sleep. Her quirk, perhaps?
He leans up slightly from his position on the bed and realizes that he's still mostly naked; Shouto had stripped him of his uniform when he carried him back to the bedroom, leaving him with just a pair of black boxers. His hands fly to cover his crotch. Well, as fast as his hands can fly at the moment. His limbs still feel like lead weights.
"D-Dr. Suzuki! It's nice to meet you. Ah," his eyes dart around the room to find Shouto perched at the end of their king-sized mattress. He reaches out to squeeze Izuku's thigh reassuringly.
The doctor tuts:
"I can see that Shouto wasn't joking when he mentioned how stubborn you were! Most people go out like a light when I use my quirk on them. But you're a hard-headed one. I guess that should be expected from the hero Deku. I was just finishing your check-up. You really ought to go back to sleep, dear."
Izuku blinks.
"I. Uh. Sorry?" He smiles weakly. Even that is an effort.
"Suzuki-San took some samples and checked your vitals," Shouto says, eyeing him carefully, "Whatever you have, it's flu-like in nature. She's going to call me when she gets the results."
"Ah. I see. Thank you very much, Dr. Suzuki." Izuku smiles weakly up at the doctor. The small old woman stands up to her full height (which isn't much. She's only just taller than the mattress) and carefully removes the latex gloves on her hands, depositing them in a trashcan by the bedside.
"No need, just doing my job, mister Number One hero. Todoroki, dear." she pivots to face his partner. Shouto tucks his unruly bangs back behind his ear to look at her clearly.
He really ought to cut those, Izuku thinks. They get in the way of his gorgeous eyes.
"Yes, Suzuki-San?"
"Don't let him leave this bed unless necessary. Whatever virus he has, it's a nasty one. I would have him call out for the next few days until I determine his illness. Do you have someone who can look after him while you're away?"
"There's no need; I can call out to look after him. We both have a lot of sick and personal days to use."
Izuku sputters, "W-what? No. This is silly. I'll be fine by tomorrow," he turns his head to look at the old woman, "Really, taking off won't be necessary."
They both look at him with what best translates as uh-huh. Suuuuure and he squirms.
"Midoriya, your dedication to your job is admirable, but as a licensed physician I insist that you stay home, at least until I can get your results back." Suzuki folds her hands behind her back
"But--"
"Go back to sleep, you stubborn man." That warm feeling swaths around him once more, like a comforting blanket. Sleep. That sounded good. That sounded very good….
"Wait," he croaks out, snapping his eyes open.
"Go to sleep, Midoriya." Dr. Suzuki says once more. And he's out like a light.
-
Three days pass by in a haze. Izuku is vaguely aware of Shouto by his side, switching out wet cloths for cooler ones every hour, taking occasional readings on the thermometer, spoon-feeding him chicken noodle soup and making sure he takes small sips from the cup of ginger ale on the bedside table.
Izuku gave up arguing about his health the morning following Dr, Suzuki’s visit, when he attempted leaving bed by himself to use the bathroom and woke up Shouto when he stumbled to the floor. Shouto had actually looked angry then, after he’d hoisted Izuku up from the carpet and guided him to the bathroom.
“Wake me up next time,” he’d said, voice still thick with sleep, “What if you’d hurt yourself? Just because you’re a hero doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help when you need it. I’m here for you, Izuku. Healthy or otherwise.”
That had made him flush red with shame, and he mumbled back a promise to not be so careless.
They receive a call from Dr. Suzuki on the afternoon of the third day. He and Shouto are propped up against the headboard of their bed, Izuku snuggled up against his boyfriend’s chest while they watch The Princess Bride on the flatscreen that Shouto brought in from the living room. Shouto’s right arm is draped around his shoulder and he periodically blows cool streams of air over the top of Izuku’s head.
Izuku is just starting to nod off when a phone starts buzzing.
“Sorry, Izuku,” Shouto says as he pulls back. Izuku slides down the headboard and hits the pillow softly.
“Mnnn.”
He listens to the low rumble of Shouto’s voice.
“Sukuzi-San, hello. The results are back?” At this, Izuku cracks an eye open to peer at Shouto. He’s still leaned back against the headboard, but his right arm is secured around his left elbow while he listens to the phone. He chews his bottom lip absently while he listens, and his eyebrows are knit together slightly. They haven’t really left the bed today, except the one trip to the bathroom earlier to use the bathroom and help Izuku in the bath, and when Shouto left to make them food. He didn’t bother to comb out his hair today, or the day before, so the part down his hair is messy and pink where the colors overlap. He’s wearing one of Izuku’s over-sized All Might t-shirts that hugs his larger frame along with baby-blue pajama bottoms. The overall effect is a very casual-looking Shouto Todoroki, and his heart swells with affection.
Only he gets to see Shouto like this. If not for the fact that he’s sick, he’d climb on top of the icyhot hero and pepper him with kisses right then and there.
“Uh-huh. Uh-hhuh. Well, that’s not great.”
The words shake Izuku from his thoughts.
“What’s not great?” he asks, nudging Shouto’s hip with his elbow. Shouto spares him a glance that says give me a moment .
“Yes. Yes. I’ll be sure to do that, yes. For two weeks? Alright, that shouldn’t be an issue. Oh? No. I have very reliable heroes working with my agency; I’m sure they’ll manage. Alright, thank you Suzuki-San. Uh-huh. Goodbye.” Shouto pulls the phone away from his face and sighs heavily.
Izuku struggles to get a grip on the swell of anxiety that rises in his throat. Two weeks? Two weeks for what? He couldn’t be off duty for that long!
“Shouto, what’s this about two weeks?” His voice sounds small, even to his own ears. Dammit, this sore throat is persistent.
A gentle hand pets through along his head . The look on Shouto’s face is one that Izuku is intimately familiar with by now: whatever he’s about to say, it’s serious.
“It’s official; you have the new strain of flu going around. It’s pretty bad, and already there have been increasing reports of people with the same virus. Suzuki-San said that you’re not the only one stuck in bed. So far there have only been about twelve confirmed cases, and that reporter that sneezed on you is one of them. She wants the both of us to self-quarantine for the next two weeks. Apparently that’s how long it takes for the virus to run its course.”
Izuku frowns.
“Well. Shit. Okay then.”
Shouto’s eyebrows arch up, the only indication of surprise on his face (Izuku rarely swears, and perhaps he was expecting more resistance on his part).
“Okay then?”
Izuku huffs, closes his eyes again.
“I mean, yea. I can’t really do hero work in this condition, and if I tried I’d only wind up getting more people sick. Even if two weeks stuck in the house totally sucks,” a thought occurs to him and his eyes snap back open to look at Shouto with concern, “Wait. What about you and Dr. Suzuki? You two have been in contact with me!”
Shouto laughs lightly, “ I wouldn’t worry about Suzuki-San. She wears gloves and a mask to every home visit, and she made sure to wash her hands and sanitize her equipment before she left. She’s a doctor, Izuku.” Shouto smiles.
His mouth gapes like a fish out of water, and he can feel the blush in his ears. Ah, right.
“R-right. But what about you?”
At this, Shouto’s pets turn into a gentle caress, his thumb swiping lazily against Izuku’s temple. His voice is thoughtful.
“It takes a lot for me to get sick. Because of my quirk, my body’s environment makes it hard for foreign bacteria and viruses to thrive. Extreme temperatures and all that. All the house-calls Suzuki-San ever made for me were for physical injuries and such.”
“Hhhuh. I never thought about your quirk being useful in that way before…”
“Really? I’m genuinely surprised, given how that brain of your analyzes quirks a mile-a-minute.”
“Yea well, nobody’s perfect. Besides, it’s cool to think I’m still learning things about you this far into our relationship.” Izuku smiles up at Shouto, and it’s his boyfriend’s turn to blush (it’s about time, Izuku’s face has been flushed ever since this darn fever took hold. It was his turn to go beet-red).
-
For the next few days, Shouto keeps him on a regular dose of tylenol, along with dayquil or nightquil to keep the cough away. Shouto has groceries delivered to the house so that he doesn’t risk exposing anyone else to the virus that may cling to any of his clothes, and keeps Izuku on home-made soups and alterations of water and ginger ale. Admittedly, Izuku is getting tired of consuming nothing but liquids with the occasional piece of toast or dry saltines, but he will never turn down his boyfriend’s cooking.
On the seventh day of their self-quarantine, Izuku’s fever breaks, and they celebrate with cold soba Shouto whips up that night. He’s feeling considerably better when Shouto pecks him on the temple and leaves to do the dishes.
“Don’t eat those too fast,” he warns from the doorway.
“I womt, tank oo,” Izuku says around a mouthful of noodles.
He works happily at the small pile of soba on his plate and watches Scrubs from his spot on the bed. Dr. Cox vaguely reminds him of Aizawa sensei.
About half-way through his bowl of soba, his phone buzzes. Gently resting the bowl on top of his legs, he reaches for it and pulls open his messages.
Kacchan
HEY, YOU SHITTY NERD. HOW COME I HAD TO HEAR IT FROM YOUR BOYFRIEND THAT YOU WERE SICK??
Izuku grinned wide. Although they’d been good friends for years now, and had even been Kacchan’s best man at his wedding, it was always a pleasant surprise when the explosive hero showed that he cared.
Me
Hi Kacchan! It’s nice to hear from you! I wrote in the group chat that I was home sick a few days ago. Did you not see the message?
A little text bubble pops up at the bottom corner of the screen. Izuku can only assume that no, Kacchan had not, and was now furiously back peddling. Sure enough, about a minute later:
Kacchan
YOU IDIOTS SPAM THE GROUP CHAT SO OFTEN WITH YOUR STUPID FUCKING GROUND ZERO MEMES THAT I MUTED IT. I TRY TO LOOK AT THAT SHIT AS LITTLE AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. EIJI USUALLY LETS ME KNOW IF ANYTHING OF VALUE ACTUALLY GETS POSTED THERE.
Me
Ah, that makes sense :P Those memes are *gold*, Kaccha, and you know it.
Kacchan
STFU THEY ARE NOT.
Me
So if Eijirou usually updates you, how come you only just found out? He’s okay, right? Did you guys get into an argument or something?
Kacchan
PPHHT. NO. WE’RE TOO AWESOME A COUPLE TO EVER DO SOMETHING STUPID LIKE GIVE EACH OTHER THE SILENT TREATMENT. AND WE DIDN’T GET INTO AN ARGUMENT. HE’S BEEN AWAY ON A COVERT MISSION FOR THE PAST WEEK AND A HALF AND HAD TO LEAVE HIS PERSONAL PHONE AT WORK.
Kacchan
BUT ANYWAYS. I DIDN’T TEXT YOU TO TALK ABOUT MY HUSBAND. ICYHOT SAID YOU HAVE THAT NEW FLU GOING AROUND. ARE YOU OK?
Izuku catches himself smiling at the screen.
Me
Aw, Kacchan, you *do* care <3
Kacchan
I DO NOT
Kacchan
WHAT ON EARTH MAKES YOU THINK
Kacchan
YOU MUST BE OKAY IF YOU CAN SCRAPE ENOUGH BRAIN CELLS TOGETHER TO SASS ME, YOU GREEN FUCK.
He’s laughing so hard it hurts, but it quickly turns into a painful cough. He sits the phone back down on the bedside table and raps a fist to his chest while he wheezes. Shouto is there in an instant, feet padding urgently down the hallway to their room. He moves into the bed with Izuku and takes him firmly by the shoulder with one hand, leaning him forward and rubbing circles between his shoulder blades with the other until Izuku’s coughing fit passes. Once Izuku gets his breathing under control, he leans back against Shouto’s hand and breathes deeply.
“You okay?” Shouto asks once he’s sure that Izuku is done.
Izuku nods with his eyes closed.
“Mhmm. Sorry, I’m fine. Kacchan made me laugh.”
Shouto hums. Izuku feels his weight shift next to him on the bed and squeaks when Shouto grabs him by the waist and pulls him into his lap.
“You gonna answer him?” Shouto’s chest rumbles with his deep voice, and Izuku leans back into the sensation. He can feel Shouto’s chin resting atop his head. Warmth creeps all around him, and he realizes that Shouto has effectively turned himself into a giant heating pad.
“I will, if you and your warm self doesn’t put me to sleep first,” he mumbles. Izuku opens his eyes and looks for his phone through half-lidded vision. He finds where he sat it down and picks it back up, opening the phone to his and Kacchan’s conversation.
Kacchan
IZUKU, YOU THERE?
Me
Yea, sorry. Had a small coughing fit. I’m okay, Kacchan. Thanks for checking up :) Shouto and I should be safe to leave the house in the next week or so.
Kacchan
GOOD. TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF, DICKWEED. IF I BECOME NUMBER ONE BECAUSE YOU BIT THE DUST ON SOME LOUSY FLU, I’LL RIP YOU FROM THE AFTERLIFE TO BEAT YOUR ASS.
Shouto snorts from up above him.
“He’s only Number Two until I get back to work.”
Izuku smiles fondly; Shouto and Kacchan were constantly flip-flopping between Number Three and Number Two, almost on a bi-annually basis. Right now it was Kacchan’s turn to lorde the victory over Shouto--Izuku had no doubt that his partner would replace him eventually.
Shouto tugs him closer when Izuku types back.
Me
I will, Kacchan. Thanks again.
Izuku turns off his phone and tosses it somewhere in the bed; he doesn’t really care where it lands right now. Instead of worrying, he sinks back closer against Shouto to indulge in the gentle warmth.
“We have good friends. Katsuki sounded like he popped a blood vessel over the phone when he called earlier,” Shouto says.
“He called you?” Izuku says, tilting his head back to look into Shouto’s mismatched eyes.
“While I was making dinner, yea. He sounded so worried I think he was going to fly all the way over here before I could explain that we were on self-quarantine.” The taller man tilts his head down to kiss Izuku’s forehead.
Izuku giggles and tries hard not to dwell on the pleasant chill that sneaks its way down his spine at the gesture.
“You know he totally would have, too.”
“Yup.”
The two of them sit there, Izuku trapped between Shouto’s broad chest and the hands resting around his waist in a comfortable silence. J.D. is rambling on about another life-lesson learned in the hospital, but he gets the sense that neither of them is really paying attention to the TV. The subtle rise-and-fall of Shouto’s chest behind becomes more even, each breath relaxed and deep, and Izuku realizes that his boyfriend is falling asleep like this.
It makes sense. Between checking up on Izuku and cooking them meals, he’s been constantly cleaning the house as he goes about his day. Not to mention the fact that he’s been helping Izuku with normally simple acts like bathing and using the restroom. On top of tall that he was also doing everything he could to help run his agency from home. Shouto was working hard, very hard, and it hadn’t occurred to Izuku until then that despite the fact the half-and-half hero was healthy, he was probably just as tired as Izuku was.
“Shouto,” he breathes, just loud enough to catch his attention in case he’s still awake. A few moments pass before Shouto mumbles a response into Izuku’s hair.
“Yes?”
Izuku carefully extricates his hands from underneath Shouto’s arms, extending them downward to place them over the hands linked around his waist. He squeezes them softly.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” he says.
Shouto flips his wrists so that their palms are facing each other and laces their fingers together. They fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
“Anytime, love.”