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Enji Todoroki does not get sick.
He gets tired, overstimulated, overheated, overwhelmed. Enji can get frustrated, angry, and pent-up. He’s been every shape of miserable, felt every path of exhaustion. This is par for the course as the Number One Hero.
But a getting wiped out by a head cold? That was an indignity that didn’t compare.
He was sank deep into his couch, donned by a fleece robe that had somehow replaced his hero uniform. His face was flushed, his sinuses packed like concrete, and he was surrounded by enough tissues to fill a mattress.
“—hhuhhh’RHHESHHHHUH!!”
The sneeze tears out of him with desperation. Snapping forward, he catches it in a soggy tissue, which started to crumble in his grip.
He barely has time to breathe before the next one rears up.
“HHIHHHTSCHHHHhhguhhh!!”
He groans, harshly rubbing his wet nose, and stares glass-eyed at his empty tissue box. Great.
Then Enji hears the doorbell ring.
He doesn’t move.
It rings again.
After a pause Enji hears a familiar, irritating, voice muffled behind the door.
“Enji, I know you’re in there. You’ve ignored Keigo’s texts all day, which he has made my problem. That and a health check-in from the Commission. Either you’ve died horribly or you’re too proud to say you’re sick. I have some money on the latter so please don’t be dead in there.”
Enji groans audibly. Why him?
The door opens, ugh, he’d forgotten to lock it (His own groggy brain would be reprimanded later) and in walked Japan’s Best Jeanist- crisp, composed, and smelling faintly of starch. He wore denim tailored like armor and a coat so pressed it could cut glass.
Jeanist took one look at Enji… robe, tissue pile, runny nose …and raised an eyebrow.
“My, my.” Enji can see Jeanist’s smile in his eyes. “The Flame Hero in fleece.”
“Go away,” Enji rasps, his voice ragged and deep like gravel dragged through smoke.
Jeanist does not. He closes the door behind him gently and steps into the living room. “You clearly feel great.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” Jeanist, no, Tsunagu, doesn’t seem convinced.
“HHAH’TCHKSUUU!! Huhhhhh—TSHHHghk!! hhuhhhh-ZSHHHhhh!!”
Three sneezes wrack through him, bending him forward again. They sound painful, uncontrolled, and harsh enough that Tsunagu winces in sympathy.
Enji grunts and scrubs at his nose, which was already raw. “I’mb fide,” he mutters.
Tsunagu crosses the room and gently pries the balled-up tissue from Enji’s hand. He quickly discards of it and replaces it with an entire fresh box from the table.
“If you say that one more time in your stupid, congested drawl, I’ll be forced to deduct hero points.”
“I don’t report to you,” Enji mutters.
“No, but you’re currently reporting to these.” Jeanist holds up a grocery bag. “Soup, over-the-counter medicine, and tissues. I would’ve brought something stronger, but I doubt you’d trust me with your dosage.”
Enji doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t tell him to leave, either.
Tsunagu sits beside him with a deliberate, polite distance, and sighs. “When did it start?”
“Day ad a habf,” Enji mumbles. He cleared his throat loudly. Tsunagu winces. “Felt it comig. Tried to train through it. Didn't... work.”
Tsunagu hands him a water bottle that wasn’t there before. “That follows your general…. You-ness. No doubt you made it worse. Fevers and flame quirks are a poor combination, you know?”
Enji downs the water then leans his head back against the couch with a groan.
“HRRSCHHHhhuhh!!HhHNGSHHHhhk!! ...hh’uhhhHHRGZSHHH’uhh!!”
“Bless you,” Tsunagu says.
“I dod’t need a damn nurse,” Enji remarks hoarsely.
“No, of course not. What you need rest.” Tsunagu replies curtly.
“And what,” Enji starts, “did you think i wasdoing before you arrived?”
All Tsunagu does is roll his eyes. Enji huffs in vindication through the silence and sinks deeper into the couch, struggling not to fall asleep near-upright.
Tsunagu glances over, voice softer now. “I think you should take the week off.”
Enji’s brow furrows. “I’mb not good ad that.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
Enji’s brow furrows deeper. “What, you’re judst goig to stay? Here?”
“Yes.” Tsunagu answers bluntly. He gets up and beelines for the kitchen, returning with reheated soup. It was nothing fancy (miso broth with udon noodles) but Enji ate it quite gratefully.
Between spoonfuls, he sneezes again. Loud, congested, messy.
“HEEHHHTCHU!! …huhhh-HHRRGSHHHUU!! Hehhhh-CHHffk!”
Each sneeze sounding wetter than the last, his breath hitching uncontrollably beforehand, like his body was rebelling. Tsunagu doesn’t flinch. He hands Enji tissues and moves the soup bowl from the spray-zone.
“You sure you didn’t steal young Bakugou’s explosion quirk?” Tsunagu ask dryly.
“Shut up,” Enji grunts.
Tsunagu chuckles and Enji notices his eyes crinkle into a smile again. Enji feverishly catches himself wishing he could see Tsunagu’s face. His wandering mind distracting him from the fact that Tsunagu is trying to speak to him. Crap.
“What?” Enji blurts out smartly.
“I said,” Tsunagu chides, “take off your robe.”
“What?” Enji repeats, just as smartly.
Tsunagu is rolling his eyes again. “I said I’m going to rub this on your chest.” He’s holding up vapor rub. Did he bring that? Enji can’t remember.
“…Oh,” Enji mumbles, peeling off the robe with a surprising amount of compliance.
The menthol was cold and sharp on his skin, but it helped. He couldn’t help but focus on Tsunagu’s delicate hands splayed across his own fiery red chest hair. They way were so gentle, rubbing in slow, firm circles. “I like to take care of Shinya when he’s sick,” he says absently. “You learn things… pressure points, soothing patterns…
“…Feels good,” Enji mutters, almost involuntarily.
Tsunagu smiles faintly. “I’m glad.”
The room falls into silence again. The storm of sneezing had eased into softer sniffling. The soup was finished. The menthol worked its way into his sinuses, clearing just enough of the fog that Enji could finally breathe with his mouth closed.
He doesn’t know what to say. Enji wants to thank Tsunagu for caring at all in the first place, to tell him he’s relieved he came. He wants to tell him no one outside his daughter (or Hawks) has cared for him like this in over a decade.
“…Stay.” Is what he says instead.
Tsunagu stares at him, then lowers the bowl back to the table with a gentle nod.
He sits back down.
And massive Enji— sniffling, feverish, and slightly-less-miserable —was able to fall asleep with the Number Three Hero sitting quietly at his side.