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It was late Saturday morning when Kirishima came tumbling down the stairs and rolling into the common room. Izuku, sitting on the couch chattering with Ochako and Shouto, looked up at the sudden crash of a rock-solid body against the ground.
“Kirishima! Are you okay?” Ochako asked, popping up over the edge of the couch. Izuku was already getting to his feet to help the red head up but Kirishima had vaulted up to his knees and crawled to Izuku, his eyes wide.
“Midoribro!” Kirishima wailed, face pale as he grabbed for Izuku’s hands.
A bolt of fear, not unlike Danger Sense, shot through Izuku. Very few things could make the Hardening Hero(-in-training) look so afraid.
“What’s happened to Kacchan?”
“He’s–again–” Kirishima babbled. “It’s bad, Mido! I heard him through the wall .”
“Heard what?” Shouto asked and Ochako giggled, hiding her flushed cheeks behind her hand.
Kirishima didn’t pay any mind to the question, just shook his head and fished something out of his pocket. “He tried to throw this at me when I knocked on his door. It didn’t make it off the bed.”
Izuku grimaced when Kirishima placed (gently, so gingerly you’d think he was handling porcelain) a wadded up tissue in his hand. Used .
“Oh no,” Izuku whispered.
“Is that–gross!” Ochako squeaked when she peered over Izuku’s shoulder to see what was in his hand. “Is Bakugou sick?”
Kirishima just nodded, eyes distant with abject horror. The pool of people who’d witnessed Katsuki in this state was terribly shallow, and most of class 3A usually looked on in befuddled amusement whenever the few who had suffered a sick Katsuki trauma bonded.
“You two always make it out to be such a big deal,” Ochako rolled her eyes.
“Bakugou doesn’t get sick often, though,” Shouto mused, “so it makes sense it’s worth commenting on.”
“He can’t be much worse than he is on a regular day.” Ochako crossed her arms.
Kirishima shook his head wildly, like just the fierce motion of his head could distill that very thought. “Nope, nope, I’ve dealth with a sick Bakubro exactly once and never again .”
Izuku chuckled. “He’s a lot to take in, but it’s fine. I’ll take care of it, okay?”
“Gods bless you, Mido,” Kirishima gripped his shoulders, looking him square in the eye. “You have the patience of a saint.”
Izuku looked away and laughed. “Not really, I’ve just seen it a lot.”
“A true hero,” Kirishima muttered, stumbling away with a shake of his head.
“You should probably go wash your hands!” Izuku called after him. Kirishima nodded and pivoted towards the bathrooms. Izuku looked back to his friends with an apologetic smile. “Sorry guys, I better take care of this now, before it gets worse.”
Ochako huffed but gave him a knowing smirk, “Yeah, yeah, go take care of your man.”
Izuku flushed strawberry red and scurried off into the kitchen without another word, resolutely ignoring the giggles that followed him. He hoped there was still some leftover soup from the other night but it seemed someone had snapped it up already. Which meant Izuku would have to make it from scratch.
He fumbled with the knife as he chopped vegetables, the old aches in his broken and healed and broken again fingers burning and cramping his hand. He did his best and just hoped Kacchan was too sick to notice how poorly cut the green onion and ginger were. He tried to remember what sauce he mom would stir fry the veggies in while the rice cooked, and after a short while, he had what (he hoped) was a passable bowl of okayu.
He scooped up a bottle of Kacchan’s special blend hot sauce (the bottle was marked with an exploding skull and crossbones), brewed a cup of tea and carried the food upstairs, using Blackwhip to call the elevator. Kacchan’s floor was empty when he got there, Kirishima still cowering somewhere else in the dorms (most likely Mina’s room) and Shoji had left earlier that morning for a date with Tokoyami. Izuku knocked on the door with a balled up Blackwhip tendril, listening intently for a response.
There was a muffled groan, a light shuffle, and then a heavy thud.
Izuku whipped open the door, concerned, to find Kacchan face flat on the ground, legs tangled in his bedsheets, unmoving.
“Kacchan!” Izuku hurried inside, setting the meal on the floor and hurrying to Katsuki’s side. Katsuki moaned and groaned and whined petulantly in a way he so rarely did, face pressed into the floor.
Izuku untangled Katsuki’s legs from the sheets–they were sopping wet from sweat, and so were Katsuki’s clothes. He wasn’t even in his usual pajamas, but in the sweats and tee he’d worn to their training last night. Izuku frowned.
Katsuki had seemed a little sluggish during their training, but he’d chalked that up to the brutal exercises they’d undergone in Heroics that afternoon. It hadn’t seemed worse than quirk overuse and a Katsuki whose social battery had long since been drained by the time the school week ended. Izuku mentally kicked himself for not noticing how bad it was. What kind of hero would he be if he didn’t know when he own boyfriend was sick?
“Kacchan, c’mon, it’s okay,” Izuku helped Katsuki sit up once he was free from the blanket. Kacchan’s face was ruddy, eyes half closed like he barely had the energy to open them, his head lolled to one side.
“Zu…ku?” he muttered, blinking slowly as he stared at Izuku blearily. “Tha’ you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Izuku said, “why didn’t you say you were sick? I wouldn’t have pushed so hard last night–”
“Fu’ you!” Katsuki slurred, lips twisting into a weak snarl, “M’not sick! Dun look dow’ n’me!”
Izuku frowned, “I’m not, you know that. I’m worried about you.”
Katsuki grumbled and weakly shoved Izuku’s hands off him, stumbling and swaying as he flopped back onto the bed, legs half hanging off the mattress and kicking at the air as he tried to right himself. He whined, high pitched and wheezy, until Izuku relented and shifted him so he was fully laid out on the bed.
“Can I at least help you get changed?” Izuku asked, ducking a wayward swipe of Katsuki’s arm before it slapped the bed bonelessly. Izuku rolled his eyes as he put the okayu and tea onto Katsuki’s desk–and away from his flailing limbs.
“C’n do it m’self,” Katsuki huffed, wriggling against the bedspread. “See?”
Izuku blinked at his boyfriend in fond exasperation.
“So close, Kacchan,” Izuku murmured, pulling a clean pair of sweats and a soft tank top from his dresser. “One more time, baby?”
Katsuki rolled sideways to glare at Izuku. “No.”
“Show me one more time, please?” Izuku asked, already shimming his sweat soaked and grass stained pants off his legs.
“No,” Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re so good at it though, Kacchan.” Izuku tossed the dirty pants towards the dirty laundry and wrestled with one of Kacchan’s legs to get it into the clean pair. He nearly took a heel to the nose, but with enough coaxing and a lot of help from Blackwhip, he managed to get Kacchan into the fresh set of clothes.
“See, so much better, right, Kacchan?”
“F’ck you,” Katsuki glared at the side of Izuku’s head as he picked up the mug of tea.
“Sit up for me?” Izuku asked, perching on the side of the bed. “You need some fluids in you.”
“Dun wan’ nothin’,” Katsuki grumbled, “M’not sick.”
“Heroes always take care of their bodies, right Kacchan?” Izuku probed. “And heroes need to stay hydrated.”
“I’m th’ best hero!” Kacchan howled, voice cracking halfway through before he sputtered into a long series of wet coughs.
“Come take a sip then, okay?” Izuku placated, helping Kacchan sit up enough that he could take measured sips from the mug.
“M’number one,” Katsuki mumbled when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Izuku dabbed at the corner of Kacchan’s mouth with his sleeve.
“You are,” Izuku said softly, “You’re the number one hero, Kacchan. The best.”
Katsuki furrowed his brow, cogs slowly moving behind his fever-glazed eyes. Izuku let him puzzle over whatever he was trying to think about while he retrieved the bowl of okayu and a bottle of water from Katsuki’s mini-fridge.
“No,” Katsuki said when Izuku sat back down beside him in the bed.
“No what, baby?” Izuku asked, offering Kacchan a spoon of the porridge.
“Not number one.”
Izuku blinked, brain stalling at the sudden change. He lowered the bowl to his lap to look at Katsuki quizzically. This could just be some strange stubbornness exacerbated by Katsuki’s sickness, or it could be some rare peek behind the heavily guarded vulnerabilities he hid behind his tough exterior. Katsuki stared at Izuku with narrowed, glassy eyes.
“What do you mean, Kacchan?” Izuku asked when Katsuki didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate. “Of course you’re number one, you’re the best. Kacchan sugoi.”
Katsuki sneered. “No!”
“Then what?” Izuku asked.
“Y’er s’pposed to fight me for it,” Katsuki growled, swiping a heavy arm through the air. Izuku let it smack him dully against his chest. “Not give up.”
Izuku couldn’t help the breathy laugh, mostly relieved. “Oh, Kacchan, I’m not giving up. You won it fair and square, okay? Remember? You pinned me more last night than I did.”
Katsuki smirked, eyes suddenly flashing dark. “Heh. Hell yeah I did. Pinned ya real good, Zuku.”
Izuku chuckled, “Yeah, you’re the best. Now eat up, okay?”
“Gonna pin you again,” Katsuki hummed, leaning forward to press his fever hot (and hot in every sense of the world, because really. It was Kacchan. ) body against Izuku’s. “Til you’re squirming on my co–”
Izuku shut him up by pressing the spoon to his mouth. He looked away with a high flush in his face. So unfair.
“Eat your okayu first, okay?” Izuku stuttered.
Katsuki huffed and puffed as he swallowed down the spoonful of thick rice porridge. His face screwed up, nose crinkling in an adorable way that reminded Izuku of when they were little kids. Katsuki always had an expressive face.
“What’s wrong, Kacchan? Does your throat hurt?” Izuku asked, sweeping back his mussed up blonde spikes from where they were stuck to his forehead.
Kacchan shook his head, lips twisted into a petulant grimace.
“Is it too hot?”
Another shake of his head, mouth still pressed tightly shut.
“What is it then, baby? Nauseous? Do you want me to bring you some more tea?”
Katsuki looked like he contemplated it for a moment before his hand shot out to grip Izuku’s thigh to grip it in a surprisingly tight grip despite his lack of fine motor function. He shook his head again.
“Then why don’t you like it?” Izuku asked. “Do you not want it?”
Katsuki’s face soured, frowning even deeper. His face was scrunched up like he’d just eaten a lemon but he didn’t say anything and just wiggled until he was laying flat out on the bed.
“Okay, we’ll try and eat some more later, when you’re feeling up to it, then.” Izuku put the bowl on the nightstand. Katsuki rolled and pressed his face into Izuku’s hip. He swore he felt Katsuki shaking his head but he couldn’t be sure.
“Kacchan, let me get you a fresh blanket and a cold compress,” Izuku said, carding his fingers through Katsuki’s hair, scratching dull nails against his scalp. Katsuki clung to Izuku so hard that he wondered if he hadn’t somehow accidentally passed on OFA the last time they made out.
“You’ll feel better if you let me get them for you,” Izuku crooned, petting up and down Katsuki’s back with his other hand. “Promise I won’t be gone long. I’ll come right back, okay?”
“Nooooo,” Katsuki whined into Izuku’s hip.
“So clingy,” Izuku muttered, attempting to break free from Katsuki’s hold. “Here, how about this, let me see your hand, baby?”
Katsuki pulled back to glare at Izuku in suspicion. He flopped his hand out onto Izuku’s thigh, sweaty palm out. Izuku threaded Blackwhip between Katsuki’s fingers and wrapped it around his wrist.
“There,” Izuku beamed, “now no matter how far I go, you’re still holding onto me.”
Katsuki stared at his hand like he’d never seen it before in his life. Izuku took his opportunity to extricate himself from his boyfriend’s octopus grip and hurried to the other side of the room where Katsuki kept his spare linens. The tendril of Blackwhip kept his tethered to Katsuki the whole time. He pulled an ice pack from Kacchan’s mini-fridge and wrapped it in a towel before returning to his boyfriend’s side.
Izuku pressed the compress to Katsuki’s sweltering forehead and tucked him into the fresh blanket, kicking he sweaty one away. He knew Katsuki would end up kicking the blankets off anyway while he slept; if Izuku didn’t hog the sheets at night, they would end up on the floor because Katsuki always ended up too warm.
Katsuki kept the Blackwhip wrapped hand pressed to his chest and extended his other arm out to Izuku. He glared and made a grabby hand in his direction. Izuku giggled as he was yanked unceremoniously onto the bed. He shifted around until he could tuck Katsuki into his chest and prop his chin over his head.
“I’m right here, Kacchan,” Izuku kissed the crown of Katsuki’s head. “All yours today.”
Kacchan mumbled something into the fabric of Izuku’s shirt, unsubtly rubbed his snotty nose against it (Izuku wasn’t too grossed out), and huffed.
“Yeah, of course,” Izuku murmured, “always yours. Now go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here the whole time.”
His words fell on deaf ears; Katsuki was already snoring loudly into his chest. Izuku kept one arm wrapped tightly around Kacchan’s broad shoulders and the other fished his phone out of his pocket. He dozed off between texting his friends an update (and sending Kirishima an All Clear) and scrolling the hero forums. When he woke again, it was late afternoon, judging by the slant of the sun coming in through Katsuki’s blinds.
Izuku’s stomach rumbled; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He looked a little forlornly towards the abandoned and now congealed okayu on Kacchan’s nightstand. He may be able to reheat it downstairs if he could untangle himself from Kacchan, but he really didn’t want to. He liked spending as much time as he could in Kacchan’s arms. They were very nice arms.
“Why’re you mumblin’ ‘bout my arms, nerd?” Katsuki’s hoarse voice pulled Izuku from his spiraling thoughts.
“Uh,” Izuku said, “no reason.”
Katsuki snorted. “Sure, I believe that.”
He groaned into a full body stretch, before collapsing his weight back onto Izuku.
“What time is it?” Kacchan asked. Izuku fumbled for his phone.
“Little after five.”
“Shit, didn’t mean to sleep all day.”
“You’re sick, Kacchan.” Izuku said. Though now that he looked at Kacchan again, he seemed less flushed and looked more alert than before.
“I feel fine, nerd. Shut up.”
“Absolutely not, you scared the shit out of Kirishima.”
“Serves him right,” Katsuki shrugged.
“You’re so mean.”
“You like me that way.”
Izuku chuckled and pressed a kiss to Katsuki’s much cooler forehead. The fever had broken at least.
“C’mon, there should still be some okayu in the fridge. I can heat it up for us.”
Katsuki’s face twisted the same way it had earlier.
“What?” Izuku prodded.
“What did you stir fry it in?” Katsuki asked.
“Olive oil and soy sauce, why?”
Katsuki glared up at him. “Y’sure you used oil?”
“Yes!” Izuku spluttered. “Um, I think. It was the green bottle.”
Red eyes narrowed. “Was it labeled ‘olive oil’ or not?”
“I don’t think it was labeled?” Izuku really wasn’t really sure where this line of questioning was going.
“You idiot,” Katsuki groaned, slamming his head into Izuku’s shoulder repeatedly, “You fucking fried that shit in vinegar!”
“Wha–no! I know what vinegar looks and smells like! I would have noticed!”
Katsuki levels a Category 5 death glare at him. “No the fuck you wouldn’t. Even with my fucked up taste buds, I could taste it. I should ban you from my kitchen.”
“It’s a communal kitchen, Kacchan. You can’t ban people from it.”
“Fucking try me, dork.” Katsuki growled.
Izuku tried to wiggle out of Kacchan’s grip, but he was just held tighter.
“Where the fuck you think you’re going, shitnerd?”
“To get rid of the food you hate so much,” Izuku shot back, trying to pry Katsuki’s hands off him.
“You can’t cook, like at all,” Katsuki said, pressing his face between Izuku’s shoulder blades, his voice vibrating through his chest, “but I love what you make anyway.”
“Kacchan…”
“Sorry I was a brat about it,” Katsuki muttered.
Izuku giggled, easing back into Katsuki’s embrace. “You’re the worst brat when you’re sick.”
“Oi! Fuck you!” Katsuki snarled, shaking Izuku viciously, “I’m the best brat, you fucknugget.”
“That’s a new one.” Izuku flopped his full weight onto Katsuki, pinning him to the bed.
“Get off me, you goddamn log. I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Not while you’re still sick. You’re on bed rest for the rest of the weekend, mister.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not. I feel fine, asshole.” Katsuki coughed.
“Sure, I believe that.”
“I’m gonna fucking throw you out the window.”
“That stopped being a threat when I learned to fly.”
Katsuki roared in rage, squishing Izuku tightly in his arms, chomping down on his freckled cheeks and pulling sharply until he conceded. Both of their stomachs gurgled then. Izuku flushed in embarrassment.
“C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a real okayu, nerd.” Katsuki shoved Izuku to the floor.
“I know how to make okayu, Kacchan.”
“That monstrosity–” he pointed to the bowl on his nightstand, “–begs to differ.”
Izuku rolled his eyes.
“Fine, Kacchan. Since you’re the master chef here, teach me.”
“Damn fucking right I’m the master,” Katsuki grumbled, “Now give me your hoodie, I’m cold.”
“You’re never cold,” Izuku pointed out with a smirk, but taking his hoodie off dutifully. Technically, it was Kacchan’s hoodie to begin with. Izuku was a chronic clothes thief, but he liked when he could smell Kacchan all the time, okay? It wasn’t weird. It was just boyfriend things.
“I’m fucking sick, asshole. Shut up.” Katsuki yanked the hoodie on over his head, his spiky hair puffing out to dandelion fluff levels. Izuku giggled and ran his hair through the soft strands. “Let’s go before I starve to death.”
“You’re so dramatic, Kacchan.”
“Fuck you.” Katsuki stomped out of his room, hands shoved in the pocket of the hoodie. Izuku scooped up his offending okayu and the empty tea mug on his way out. He took a cautionary sniff of the porridge–it smelled way off, nearly acidic. Huh. He probably did use the vinegar instead.
He shrugged and happily trailed after a shouting Katsuki, glad to see his boyfriend feeling better. He may not be able to cook any comfort food, but he knew how to take care of his Kacchan anyway. He’d happily take care of him every day if he could.