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It had all started the previous day, with a headache that had stretched from morning until night, and then some. The next morning, Toji immediately knew something was up: he didn’t need to use keen observational skill to see that. It was evident in the way you slowly, sluggishly pulled yourself up from the bed to use the bathroom, then gingerly climbed back under the covers, wriggling towards him like a pathetic, sick worm.
Beneath the covers, you tried to squish your smaller, softer body against his larger one, and he felt the warmth radiating from you, far warmer than the normal temperature of a human should be. You sighed in relief at the contact, curling an arm around Toji’s trim waist, and he thought to himself that he’d allow you this for a moment, knowing that he would soon have to peel himself from you to get to a few odd jobs he had that day.
By the time he finally does leave, you’re sound asleep again. So out of it that you don’t even flinch when he turns the bedroom light on to look for his pants, or when he pushes your dumbass back to the centre of the bed after you’d rolled to the very edge. When he touched your bare arms to move you, he noticed that instead of warmth from you, you now felt cold, almost clammy.
“Gross.” He huffed under his breath, pulling the covers up over your shoulders, tucking them haphazardly beneath your chin. He noted your complexion looking paler than it normally did, a slight furrow in your brow.
He turned away again, busying himself with finding whatever else he needed for the day, leaving you looking like a sad lump of blankets on the bed. He even remembered to turn the light back off, patting himself on the back for being so attentive.
The day passed slowly, without you blowing up his phone with texts about your day, and not sending those stupid little pictures you thought were funny and called “memes” (Some of them did make him laugh, but he’d never tell you that).
By the time he’d finished up his last job and cleaned the blood from around his collar, the sun was already mostly dipped beneath the horizon, sky darkening as it turned to night.
Toji was tired, but he was also hungry - and so he made a quick stop at a takeaway store you both frequented. He purchased an array of things, meat buns, fried chicken, and two bowls of brothy noodle soup. Not because he expected you to still be sick, or anything: just because that was what he felt like eating that night.
At least, that’s how he reasoned with himself as he climbed the last few steps towards your shared apartment, unlocking the front door with his left hand, holding the bags of hot food in the other.
He pushed his way inside, hanging his keys on one of the small hooks on the wall before placing the food down in front of him, before removing his shoes and sitting them lazily in front of the door. He made his way down the hallway, which was in complete darkness now that the sun had fully set. The only light present was a flickering, soft blue light coming the tv, shining from the small gap in the bedroom door.
He stomped his way through the door, flicking on the light switch as he went. On the bed, you were sitting wrapped in a soft blanket, looking like some kind of cocooned curse spirit. After he’d turned the light on you were whining about your head and how bright it was, to which his only response was a roll of his eyes and an indignant “tch”.
He placed the bag down on the bed in front of your writhing, moaning form (yes, he was capable of being gentle when it involved scalding hot soup) and made his way to the ensuite bathroom, leaving a path of soiled clothes in his wake. As he reached the door he turned, spying your head peeking out of a small window in the blanket, looking miserable, cheeks darkened by what he assumed to be a fever.
Your eyes were red and watery, too, and you were looking at the bag of food silently, questioning it.
“Stupid shop gave me extra soup.” Your eyes flickered up to his, suddenly looking a shade brighter.
“Eat.” He commanded gruffly, then turned back to the bathroom to shower the day away.
After a short while he exited the bathroom, clean and clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants. He noticed you slowly stirring a bowl of soup, no longer tightly wrapped in your blanket. It now sat discarded around your hips, bare legs crossed as you watched the television in front of you with glassy eyes.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box of painkillers he’d gotten from the bathroom, giving them a cursory shake before tossing them at your head. You froze up, blinking slowly as you turned your eyes up to him in questioning, but he just busied himself with rummaging through the bag of food, before sitting beside you on the bed, hastily shoveling a meat bun into his mouth.
From your place on the bed, you shuffled about as you got your bottle of water, before swallowing the pills Toji had just thrown at you. He missed the way you glanced at him as you did, a dopey, soft smile playing on your lips.
“Thanks for sharing your extra food with me,” you rasped, and he hated the way your voice sounded so weak, so congested. He preferred it when you were animated, sarcastic, teasing him.
Instead of saying any of that, though, he just grunted with a shrug of his shoulders, gulping down the remainder of the brothy soup. A stream of the soup spilled out the side, dribbling down his chin to the bulge of his chest, his pectoral muscles, and he heard your low hum of approval.
“Dinner and a show?” You purred, making to move towards him, clammy hands curling around his bicep and squeezing.
He discarded the now empty takeaway bowl in the empty bag, and without looking at you, used his pointer and middle finger to push your weak body back by the forehead. As he expected, you didn’t put up a fight - just fell back into the pillow behind you with a huff.
Toji leant over your prone body to snatch the remote from your bedside table, then shuffled around some of his pillows before propping himself up against them, one arm behind his head, the other propped against the solid plain of his abdomen, remote control in hand and pointed at the tv.
Like some kind of sickly, pathetic, miserable, (adorable), (sweet), rat, you slowly began inching toward him, not unlike a snake as you slid your arm up his chest, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. You inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the natural musk of him , and sighed with relief. Yes, you thought. This is what you’d wanted all day long .
He grunted, nose scrunched up in discomfort at the feel of your warm body against his. He knew the painkillers would do their job soon in lowering your fever, so he pulled your body against his, large hand instinctively sliding down your side, to your hip, then to your ass, squeezing lovingly and appreciatively as it went.
As he did, you let out soft hums of approval, almost purring, and nuzzled closer to him, gently running a hand up his chest, before bringing your thumb across his nipple in a quick swipe.
“You know,” you spoke, tilting your face towards his, eyes shining with mischief, “I think I can think of a few ways you could help heal this sickness of mine.”
He almost laughed right in your face, but only because he was sure you had no idea what you looked like right now. Your pallor was sickly, eye bags heavy and prominent, hair a tangled mess. He loved to see you messy and ruined, but not like this. Like this, you just looked small, and weak, and in need of a good night’s sleep. No, he could ruin you another day, when you could properly enjoy yourself.
Instead, though, he just ruffled your hair, placing his hand over yours to cease your toying with his body, before he settled you both in with the covers wrapped around you.
He ignored your huffing and whining, and just as he expected you were soon snoring softly against him. He glanced down, noting how cosy and relaxed you looked, before reaching again for the remote control and lowering the volume.
He quickly ducked his head down to kiss your forehead, grimacing when his lips were met with your feverish sweat, but just sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Distantly, he remembered that his schedule for the next two days was free, and for a second, he allowed himself the comfort of relief at knowing he could spend that time in bed with you. As if you were a psychic and could read his thoughts (even as you slept) he cleared his throat, looking down at you again - you were still sound asleep, and still definitely unable to read his thoughts.
He definitely just wanted to have a sleep in, he told himself. It had nothing to do with the fact that you were sick and that he cared about you and your well-being. Nope. Not at all.