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It's times like these, Hizashi thought to himself, that he truly resented having taken on so many responsibilities over the years.
It had seemed like a great idea, at the time, to keep himself busy right out of high school as a sidekick, as a podcaster. Then came hero work, came his radio show, came modeling, teaching, public appearances…
Back then, it had been perfectly doable. Hizashi, if nothing else, was known for being an endless source of untapped, raw energy–he knew he could handle the workload; that he could enjoy it, even. Plus, the biggest advantage of running himself ragged was that he didn't have to think about his pathetic, hopeless crush on his best friend.
It worked brilliantly. It had worked for longer than he'd like to admit, actually–vivid daydreams of guarded eyes, broad shoulders, and soft, tangled hair had been masked by bright lights, screaming crowds, and deafening music.
But, as most feelings do, the awful yearning that had plagued his teenage years had refused to be stifled quite so easily. It was maddening to be surrounded by obligations once things had intensified during their twenties, once Hizashi had started seeing Shouta in everything, even when he wasn't present–in song lyrics, in faceless fans, in the drive and passion of the UA students.
It was maddening enough, as a matter of fact, that he hadn't been able to keep a lid on it for very long; had made a drunken, tearful fool of himself one night and babbled about his feelings to the man himself, terrified and overwhelmed and desperate for a way to make his heart stop lurching at the sight of Shouta's dark, intense gaze.
Somehow, though–thankfully, blissfully–the man had reacted positively; letting Hizashi stammer out apology after apology, getting halfway through a spiel about 'and even in high school, like, I definitely wanted to train privately with you because I respect you as a hero, but I can't lie to myself anymore, I also just desperately wanted to stare at your ass, and I'm so, so, sorry, because–' before he finally took mercy on Hizashi and kissed him, a full smile having bloomed across his face.
He was beautiful. He was breathtaking. He was perfect.
Unfortunately for Hizashi though, no more than two weeks into the best thing that had ever happened to him, and his boyfriend (boyfriend!) was also very much sick.
It could've been easy, Hizashi thought, if not for two factors. The first was the aforementioned responsibilities that Hizashi had inflicted upon himself–they'd worked wonders for running from his feelings, but now that he'd acted upon them, they left him too little time to shower Shouta in the affection he so very much deserved.
The second, and most pressing, actually fell on Shouta himself–for all the man's brilliance, for all his monologues about logic and rationality, he was stubborn as a mule when it came to taking care of himself.
And so, that left Hizashi with only one option.
"I can't go back to bed," Shouta sniffled miserably, eyes hooded from exhaustion. "Gotta go teach my classes, Nemuri can't cover."
"But some of the other teachers can," Hizashi insisted, shooing the other man away from the door. "I called the school already and talked to Nezu. Thankfully, you've got enough of a penchant for running yourself ragged that he didn't even question giving you the next two days off."
"What," Shouta croaked. It was more of a statement than a question, but Hizashi didn't miss the faint glimmer of relief that flickered briefly across his features. "Why would you do that."
"Because I hate seeing you push yourself like this," Hizashi huffed, lifting his boyfriend's capture weapon off of his neck and placing it gently on the table by the door. "And unfortunately for you and your bad habits, I'm in a position now that I can do something about it. You're taking the day off. Go get rid of that hero uniform."
Shouta blinked incredulously at him once, twice, before his shoulders slumped and he nodded stiffly. Before heading to his bedroom to change, he snatched a cup of coffee off of his kitchen table and shoved it into Hizashi's hands.
"Here," he huffed, stifling a yawn. "Take this to work with you, then, so it doesn't go to waste."
"I appreciate the gesture, love, but I'm playing hooky today," Hizashi laughed, shaking his head. "I called the radio station and both of our agencies–you're stuck with me."
Shouta stared blankly at him, eyes wide, seemingly unsure of what to say.
"And you'd better get ready, too," Hizashi continued, pausing to flash a trademark grin, "because the first thing on my agenda is getting you set up for the most comfortable nap of your life."
A faint blush settled across Shouta's cheekbones, and he moved to duck into a scarf that he wasn't actually wearing. He'd done it since he'd started training with the capture weapon in high school, and Hizashi paused to wonder (not for the first time) if it was a habit he even knew that he had.
"I…" the man hummed, averting Hizashi's eyes, "...have taken a lot of naps."
Hizashi barked out a laugh at the comment, then another when Shouta jumped slightly in surprise at the sudden noise.
"Well then, I'll just have to try extra hard to make it special then, huh?" he teased. "Go on, get changed into something comfortable. I'll be in in a minute."
Shouta nodded at him, shifting nervously on his feet for the briefest of moments before quickly pressing a chaste kiss to Hizashi's temple and padding off to his room.
Cute, Hizashi thought pointedly, his smile widening. Then, louder, Mine.
–
Hizashi took longer than he'd intended before he'd finally joined Shouta in his bedroom. He felt a small twinge of guilt, but knew that the result, at least, would be worth it.
Unsurprisingly, Shouta had already drifted off while he was waiting–he was sitting upright, slightly slouched, in the office chair beside his desk, completely dead to the world.
Hizashi let himself stare for a moment, heart melting at the sight of the other man swaddled up in a pair of thick, flannel pajama pants and one of Hizashi's long-forgotten t-shirts. Shouta must've been cold, too, because he'd bothered to put on a cushioned pair of slipper socks–a pair that Hizashi had recognized as having little cat paws stitched onto the undersides of them.
He walked up quietly, leaning in and brushing some of the other man's hair out of his face. Shouta didn't startle–too exhausted now for any kind of fight response, it seemed–but instead looked up blearily at him, a relaxed expression on his face.
"Took you a long time," he said, punctuating the sentence with a cough. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."
Hizashi couldn't help it, then—he had no other choice except to lean forward and press a kiss into Shouta's hair, smiling into it before pulling away.
"It's okay, darling," he drawled, draping a plush blanket across his boyfriend's shoulders. "It's good. You need as much rest as you can get on a normal day, let alone while you're sick."
Shouta immediately relaxed under the heat of the blanket, savoring it for a moment before stumbling to his feet.
"Did you put this in the dryer to warm it up?" he asked, surprised, and Hizashi smugly noted how contented he sounded.
"Of course," Hizashi snickered, helping him to the bed. "I told you, you're about to experience Present Mic's Naptime Extraordinaire. We spare no expense. Especially not for you, handsome."
He made a show of winking as he tucked the blanket in around his boyfriend, and he could tell Shouta was making a point to keep his expression curled up into one of slight annoyance.
"House rule," he rasped, pausing to grab blindly at his nightstand for a tissue. "No theatrics in the apartment."
And Hizashi laughed.
"Sure, sure," he snickered, grabbing the box and placing it gently on Shouta's lap. On impulse, a hand snuck forward to loosely grab at Hizashi's own, twisting their pinky fingers together.
Shouta pointedly looked away, seemingly too embarrassed to look anywhere except for the wall. Hizashi found himself fighting the urge to coo at him.
"Not yet," he purred, pulling away. "Let me grab you some tea and some medicine first, okay?"
Shouta nodded, relaxing further into his blanket nest, and it was all Hizashi could do not to abandon his plan, to lean down over the dark-haired man and kiss him until they dissolved into one another.
He had a job to do, though. And so hesitantly, regrettably, he resisted.
–
Shouta was still awake once Hizashi found his way back with the tray he'd filled.
"Hey there, sweetheart," the blonde beamed, gently setting it down on the nightstand. "Are you comfortable?"
Shouta nodded, his nose peeking about above the comforter he'd started to melt into, and sniffled a bit.
"Yeah," he said, his voice sounding slightly off from the congestion.
"Great! Get ready, because you're about to be a whole lot comfier," Hizashi promised, fumbling with some packaging. "First of all, take these. I know you're not a fan of medicine, but they'll help."
"That's supposed to make me comfortable?" Shouta quipped, smirking to himself as he reached for the pills.
"No, jackass," Hizashi laughed. "But this is. Here, I made you some tea for your throat–caffeine free so that you can still sleep. The steam should help, too."
He shifted to point beside the cup, where a lidded bowl sat.
"And I made you some soup from the vegetables in the fridge, that should help too. You'll feel better a lot sooner if you keep your stomach full."
Shouta used the tea to swallow down the pills, humming as he nodded.
"Thank you," he croaked, eyes softening.
"Don't thank me yet," Hizashi chuckled. "You haven't even heard the best part."
"Oh?" Shouta asked, feigning disinterest. "It gets better?"
"Definitely," Hizashi replied, standing.
He stepped toward Shouta's dresser, pulling out a neatly folded t-shirt that he knew was a bit stretched in the shoulders. Without hesitation, he stripped off his own (infinitely more fashionable, but also infinitely less comfortable) shirt, noticing Shouta's gaze darken slightly before Hizashi had the chance to replace it with the one he'd stolen.
"Don't even think about it," he chided, despite feeling his face heat up slightly at the attention.
"I'm sick," Shouta reminded him, giving the blonde a slow once-over. "You have to be nice to me."
Hizashi barked out another laugh, shaking his head as he tossed his shirt to the side and slipped into the one he'd taken from Shouta's drawer.
"I thought I was being plenty nice!" he teased, making his way toward the bed. He perched on the side opposite to Shouta, tunneling under the covers without a moment's hesitation. "C'mere, love. I'm sorry."
Shouta slowly, carefully placed his tea back on the nightstand before rolling over to face Hizashi. And Hizashi, himself, almost had to screw his eyes shut–he'd known the other man had a habit of letting his mask slip a bit when he wasn't feeling well, but fuck. It did something to Hizashi, the way that Shouta's affection was written so blatantly across his face–and it made his heart stutter to know that finally, finally, he knew for sure that the expression was meant completely for him.
"Mm. Was playing," Shouta slurred, eyelids drooping. "You're right, you're plenty nice. This is nice."
Hizashi huffed out a laugh, slid forward to wrap himself up in Shouta's limbs.
"I'm glad you think so." He hummed in contentment, letting his own eyes drift shut. "Take notes, because you're going to be doing the same thing for me once I catch whatever the hell you've got."
Shouta laughed, but otherwise remained silent, and it wasn't long until Hizashi felt him go limp, snoring lightly.
He smiled, burying his face in the other man's hair.
"Goodnight," he murmured.
And lying there, focusing on the soft puffs of air against his skin as Shouta slept peacefully, it wasn't long before he drifted off too.