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You’re sick. Snotty nose, sore throat, a fever that makes all your orifices sweat. It feels like someone reached into your skull and is squeezing your brain. You can’t breathe out of your nose and your lips are chapped to hell. You feel like complete garbage and look even worse, you’re sure. Four days of doing nothing but sleep will do that to you. You’ve only gotten out of bed to replenish your tea, get a popsicle, and pee. You ran out of popsicles and medicine the day before and you can’t bring yourself to leave your apartment.
So when Gojo — who happens to be both your senpai and the man you have an unbelievably big crush on, announces his arrival to your apartment, you want nothing more than to succumb to your cold. You pull your comforter over your head, maybe if you’re still enough, you’ll disappear into your mattress. Or maybe he’ll think you’re asleep and leave. You groan inwardly, he can’t see you like this. It’s humiliating. You didn’t even invite him! Though it seems awfully like him to show up to people’s homes unannounced. How did he even know you were sick the only person you informed was —
“Y/N~” He sings, he’s in your room and suddenly you know how it feels when a horror movie killer walks into the room you’re hiding in, “Yaga told me you were deathly ill , and I’d be a terrible senpai if I didn’t come to check in on my poor kouhai.” Usually when someone is ‘deathly ill’ people would take that as a sign to not come see them. Plus, hadn’t the principal ever heard of professional privacy???
You sniffle, wiping away snot with the back of your sleeve. It’s getting hot under the blanket and a cough itches at your throat, but you remain silent.
“Are you asleep?” There’s a beat, “Alright, I’ll just leave this here…” There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. Did he actually come to check on you? He didn’t seem like the type to take care of sick people. Yet, your heart squeezes as you fiddle with your fingers.
You think you hear his footsteps departing, satisfied that you fooled him. You peek over the edge of your comforter, only to be met with a familiar figure.
You stare at each other for a moment. His hair is down, instead of his usual blindfold and uniform, he’s wearing glasses and more casual clothes. A playful grin is on his face. He looks like the cat that caught the canary.
You pull the comforter back over you. “Gojo-senpai… I appreciate it, but I don’t want to get you sick…” Your voice is quiet, and muffled by the blanket. It’s not exactly a lie, you really don’t want to get him sick. To be honest, you don’t even know if he can, he’s so strong, it’s hard to imagine him in the same state as you. You giggle, picturing him with flushed cheeks is a bit cute. Maybe spoon-feeding him porridge. The sorts of things that happen in shojo anime. You blink, coming to your senses, however hazy.
“Huuh? I can’t hear you, Y/N, maybe if you come out from under there, we can talk.” You don’t know how much you believe him.
“You have to turn around okay?”
“Sure, sure.”
You peek, he’s turned around. Sitting up, you toss your blanket off of you, indulging in the cool air of your room. You bring your knees to your chest, pulling your shirt over them.
“Why’re you here…?” Even though you’re out from under the blanket, you still feel hot. Too, too hot.
His hand rubs the back of his neck, “Didn’t I say already? Maybe you’re just a bad listener.”
You don’t suppress the soft laugh that leaves your lips, “Isn’t that you, Gojo-senpai? That’s what Ijichi-san would say.” You don’t think you’d speak like this normally, but your brain is so stuffed full of cotton that it’s hard to filter your thoughts.
“Y/N you really think that lowly of me?” His words are spun with faux-hurt.
“No…” You mumble, “I think too much of you…” You have no idea what you’re saying. There’s a slight movement as he turns his head to look at you, and you press your hands to your face, “No! Don’t look at me, I’m a mess!” Your raised voice cracks and whines, making you cough into your knees. If you didn’t already have a fever, you’d be flushed with embarrassment.
He laughs, now fully facing you and all your germ-ridden glory, “Yes, yes, you look terrible.”
“You’re mean Gojo-senpai.” You pout, sticking your tongue out at him, “You should be nicer, sometimes.”
“Oh really? I think I’m plenty nice,” He pauses for a moment, a look you can’t really grasp on his face, “but I guess this once, I’ll pamper you.”
~
Usually, you’re so proper with him. It’s funny to Satoru seeing you act in such a childish way. Despite your protests, he couldn’t help sneak a peek. You weren’t wrong. Your hair was messy and your nose and lips were chapped. Your stained sweater was too big on you and he was pretty sure you were wearing a pair of boxers instead of pants. But Satoru didn’t really mind. He might’ve thought you were cute, still. His sick little kouhai pouting about how mean he was being, saying strange things that made his stomach flip.
He presses his hand against your cheek, you were really burning up. His thumb strokes your cheek, moving up to brush strands of hair away from your face. His touch is too gentle to simply be between a superior and subordinate.
Satoru had no intention of being your nurse when he heard about your condition, he really just meant to check in on you, bring you medicine, and leave. Deep down he already knew why he couldn’t leave you alone, but wasn’t ready to admit it yet, if at all.
“Your hand is cold.” You whine, but you still lean into his hand. Frisson runs through him, and he pulls away from you, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. It might not have been the best idea for him to come over after all.
Too late for that.
He rustles around in the bag he brought, producing a box of medicine, the powder kind you mix with hot water, “I’m gonna use your kitchen, ‘kay?” He phrases it as a question, but he wasn’t planning on waiting for an answer.
That seems to irritate you, though, “Wait— Senpai… you can’t… I can do it myself…!” Your voice breaks and fizzles out before you break out into a fit of coughs into your elbow.
“Nope! You get to lay there and be sick.” He gestures for you to lay back down, a mischievous grin on his face, “I’m rewarding my hard-working kouhai, after all.”