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"You don't have to keep doing that," Ace murmured.
The cool, damp cloth that Sabo kept wringing out and laying against his head felt nice, but he felt guilty that he'd been sitting there for– An hour? Two? All afternoon?-- just trying to make him feel better. After he'd already spent all that time making a comfortable place for him to lay down in their hideout.
"You have a fever," Sabo murmured. "Let me take care of you."
"I should be taking care of you. I'm older."
"You're the one who's sick, moron!"
"Oh. Right." Ace couldn't put up much of a fight– not with the world wobbling around the way it was. In the end, he surrendered to Sabo's fussing assault.
"This is the way my nurse did it when I was little and had a fever," Sabo murmured. Ace wasn't sure if he was talking to him, or himself.
"Does that make you my nurse then?"
"No! …Maybe… " Sabo squeezed out the damp rag again and placed it gingerly on his forehead.
Ace took a deep breath, feeling the cool of it seep away the heat of his body. He shivered and leaned into his touch. "Thanks, Sabo."